Showing posts with label spotted dick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spotted dick. Show all posts

Friday, March 16, 2012

Bird flu


I walk twenty-some-odd miles a week and suffer any number of geese. I'd like to see one of you plastic goose people put a raincoat on a Canadian goose, or better yet, a postal carrier outfit. Those sonsabitches are mean. I hiss and make faces at them whenever I pass by. They open their miserable black bills and hiss back, the bastards.

I've heard Canadian geese are a protected species. I should stop right here and research that, but frankly, I'm just too damn tired. Someone else can research this crap. In the meantime:

Note to persons protecting Canadian geese: You're wasting your time, the miserable bastards can protect themselves. Don't believe me? Try and dress one up like an Easter bunny.

Houston, we have a problem.

Sometimes in the park, there's a whole flock of your Canadian geese. Twenty? Thirty? Maybe even more. I don't hiss at your Canadian geese when they're hanging out in those numbers.  When you've got Erin vs. 25 Canadian geese, the only one who needs protection is Erin.

Got Tippy Hedren?

If I were ever walking through one of these polite suburban neighborhoods and I saw a plastic goose decked out in a fetish bondage outfit, that would really float my boat. I could really get behind a plastic goose in a fishnet body stocking. Extra points for a gay/black leather & chains theme. Bet that'd get a Canadian goose's attention.

Yesterday four wild turkeys hauled ass in front of me and crossed the street (no postal carrier outfits, no hissing). Your wild turkeys have style. Your wild turkeys have panache.

So, what does a person think when a person sees a quartet of turkeys bouncing across the road? Bet they'd be good eats. (Style and panache only get you so far.) To be honest, I often think the same thing about the miserable Canadian geese, although everyone says this is not so, that they are not good eats. I don't believe them. I say use the trusted cook-the-living-shit-out-of-it-until-the-living-shit-is-cooked-out-of-it method. Throw some wine or beer in there, few shakes of salt and an onion or two. Slop it on a plate with a side of mashed spuds. Your Goat will eat that goose.

Anyhow, what was I saying?

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Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Phone cam round-up


Sexy journal, baby.


Aha! The rare spotted dick!


Tree sock and I love it.


Venus de Boob0.


Squat and push and kick!


Itty-bitty motorcycle.


Yes, the package was unopened. No, I did not pick it up. Well ... maybe I picked it up ... but I did not eat it and that's the twoof!


Erin say: Let your goat roam. Let you goat be free.


Come on, now. Pop for the 99¢. Just dig that chick on the package!


Those jawbreakers shall require a very large jaw.


You go on ahead. I'll stay here in CLE.


But, it's EASY TO CLEAN!


Goodbye cruel mattresses ~sniff~


Weird bunny and Goat foot.


Chocolates made to look liked deviled eggs. Hmmm. No thanks. Jess' gimme a Butterfinger.

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