I've made my feelings about Caesarland quite clear in the past, what with its e.coli-smeared play structures, the eau de Ass that hangs in the thick, smoky air right at burning nostril level, the acid-washed-jeans-wearin' moms that glare at you (with their one good eye) with that "fuck with me and I'll snap your neck like a nitrite-engorged Slim Jim" look, and, of course, the pizza that I'm pretty sure is just a photo of a pizza transfered onto a circular mound of wet pantyhose.
And did I mention that the party is from 11:00 a.m. until 3:00 p.m.?! Four hours! AT CAESARLAND!!! That's the equivalent of 18 hours, here on Earth. To expose Miss O, and myself, to that much filth for that long -- she'd have less of a chance of getting ill if I drove her over to the sewage treatment plant and scooped out a few ladle-fulls of fecal greaseballs for her choke down.
Luckily, I'm planning ahead, this time, and I think I've got the perfect outfits picked out for the party:
Bring on the pizzas, ya bastards... with extra pantyhose!
5 comments:
Your "fecal greaseballs" (a phrase I never thought I'd be typing, btw) sound a lot like the hip new middle-school drug JENKEM.
Click if you dare: http://67.19.222.106/crime/graphics/jenkem.pdf
Ah, Kim, I know all about Jenkem. According to Snopes, it's a buncha hokem:
http://www.snopes.com/crime/warnings/jenkem.asp
Though, I have been known to get quite the buzz after a particularly heinous dump.
I knew it was too good to be true. If we could get a bitchin' stoner buzz from our own butt hash, we'd all be face down on the sofa all the time.
If we could get a bitchin' stoner buzz from our own butt hash, we'd all be face down on the sofa all the time.
Kim, you delicate flower, you sure can turn a phrase. I think you just found the perfect quote for your headstone.
That is why Kim is president of the Indianapolis chapter of the Crabby Club.
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