I wish to hijack this forum (and your eyes) for but a moment - I wish to tender my official notice of candidacy for the office of Official Digg Troll! You must Digg me in to This Officious Official Office!
Digg! Digg you Lazy Irish Bastards!
"Why Should I Digg?" You may say in between bites of day-old KFC.
"Good Ask" I retort!
My platform is this:
A Troll in Every Thread!
I hereby deem to post a ceaseless tornado of annoyance and petty personal attacks; aimed equally at ALL Diggers - be they gay, straight, lesbian, german, viking, or gay - NONE shall be left unoffended or royally sick of my shit!
Speaking of shit! I further extend my promises to include volumes of scurrilocity never experienced before! You fucking cock-soaked assgreasers.
scurrilous (skûr-ls, skr-)
adj.
1. Given to the use of vulgar, coarse, or abusive language; foul-mouthed.
2. Expressed in vulgar, coarse, and abusive language.
scurrilously adv.
scurrilousness n.
So DIGG You Ingracious ham-pressing fuckfaced toiletdippers! DIGG!
[The "I'm Chillin'" clubhouse. Two hot dancing ladies in Afros, shades, and red, white and blue outfits shake their groove things as music plays and the "I'm Chillin'" logo appears.]
Don Pardo V/O: Live, from the Marcy Projects, it's "I'm Chillin'!"
[B Fats dances into the room and pauses with one arm raised to herald the arrival of his smaller, thinner colleague, Onski. The two sit down on the club sofa -- but not until Onski has pulled a gun from his pants and dropped it by the door. The dancing ladies exit as the two guys, wearing shades, denim outfits and colorful headgear, address the camera.]
Onksi: Yo, yo, yo -- what's up! Welcome to "I'm Chillin'!" I'm your host Onski, to the highest degree, to the T.O.P. Yo! It's all about ME! And sittin' by my side is my main man, the dapper rapper, the toe-tapper, the Frank Zappa, the girl in his lap-a, the wine from the Napa, and I know a brother like you shops at the Gap-a! It's B Fats! Yo, B! Yo, B! Tell 'em how you feel!
B Fats: Yo, I'm drivin' my car, makin' lots o' dough/Knockin' suckers out like Riddick Bowe!
Onksi: Yo, yo, yo! I hear that! I hear that! Now before I start the sh-iz-ow - before I start the sh-iz-ow - I want to say, "What's up?!" to a new sponsor. That's right! That's right! I want to say, "What's up?!" to Bitch Come Running cologne! [holds up a bottle of the product] That's right! You know, I put a little d-iz-ab behind my iz-ears and the next thing you kn-iz-ow, I'm in the middle of a house sandwich! Yo, B! Yo, B! Yo, B! I heard you like Marky Mark!
B Fats: Naw, man, I don't like Marky Mark.
Onksi: Yo, man, yo, yo, yo! Check this out! I heard you got "Good Vibrations" on CD!
B Fats: No, man! Marky Mark ain't nothin' but Vanilla Ice in his drawers.
Onksi: Yo, yo, yo -- you got that right, yo man. That kid, Marky Mark couldn't rap a gift, man! Yo, Bizee! Yo, Bizee! It's about that time!
B Fats: Time to bust a rhyme?
Onksi: Naw, Bizee.
B Fats: Time for Gertrude Stein? [Onski gives B Fats a look. They stare at each other. B Fats just shrugs.]
Onksi: Naw, Bizee! It's time for the Mother Joke of the Day! [makes a gesture cueing a rap beat that plays under the following:] Yo! Today's Mother Joke comes to us from Pam Brown -- Br-iz-own -- of the Horzy Pr-iz-ojects, Apartment Twelve J-iz-ay, you know the one where they found that body at. And it goes a little sumpin' like this: "Your mother's butt is so wide that when she backs up, it beeps!" Yo, Don Pardo, tell her what she wins!
Don Pardo V/O:[dissolve to a photo of a woman wearing hair extensions] You win... hair extensions! Over a year's supply or three miles' worth, whichever comes first.
Onksi:[dissolve back to Onksi and B Fats] Yo, tell her what else she wins!
Don Pardo V/O:[dissolve to a photo of a stand-up comic at the Def Comedy Jam microphone - his face is blanked out with an arrow labeled "YOU!" pointing to it] You get to perform on the Def Comedy Jam! Impress your relatives! Make fun of that white guy in the audience! [rap beat out]
Onksi:[dissolve back to Onksi and B Fats] Yo, yo, yo! Well, right now we gonna watch a world-premiere video from my man, Ice-T called "Fireman Killer" -- right? [Onski's pager, attached to his headgear, starts beeping] Ah, man! Yo, yo, yo, yo! I guess we gotta do that next w-iz-eek. You know what I'm sayin'? 'Cause right n-iz-ow, I gotta go pick up my baby's mother from her GED class. You know what I'm sayin'? She's studyin' to be a doctor! But 'member what I always
[The "I'm Chillin'" clubhouse. Two hot dancing ladies in Afros, shades, and red, white and
blue outfits shake their groove things as music plays and the "I'm Chillin'" logo appears.]
Don Pardo V/O: Live, from the Marcy Projects, it's "I'm Chillin'!"
[B Fats dances into the room and pauses with one arm raised to herald the arrival of his
smaller, thinner colleague, Onski. The two sit down on the club sofa -- but not until Onski has
pulled a gun from his pants and dropped it by the door. The dancing ladies exit as the two guys,
wearing shades, denim outfits and colorful headgear, address the camera.]
Onksi: Yo, yo, yo -- what's up! Welcome to "I'm Chillin'!" I'm your host Onski, to the
highest degree, to the T.O.P. Yo! It's all about ME! And sittin' by my side is my main man, the
dapper rapper, the toe-tapper, the Frank Zappa, the girl in his lap-a, the wine from the Napa,
and I know a brother like you shops at the Gap-a! It's B Fats! Yo, B! Yo, B! Tell 'em how you
feel!
B Fats: Yo, I'm drivin' my car, makin' lots o' dough/Knockin' suckers out like Riddick
Bowe!
Onksi: Yo, yo, yo! I hear that! I hear that! Now before I start the sh-iz-ow - before I
start the sh-iz-ow - I want to say, "What's up?!" to a new sponsor. That's right! That's right! I
want to say, "What's up?!" to Bitch Come Running cologne! [holds up a bottle of the product]
That's right! You know, I put a little d-iz-ab behind my iz-ears and the next thing you kn-iz-ow,
I'm in the middle of a house sandwich! Yo, B! Yo, B! Yo, B! I heard you like Marky Mark!
B Fats: Naw, man, I don't like Marky Mark.
Onksi: Yo, man, yo, yo, yo! Check this out! I heard you got "Good Vibrations" on CD!
B Fats: No, man! Marky Mark ain't nothin' but Vanilla Ice in his drawers.
Onksi: Yo, yo, yo -- you got that right, yo man. That kid, Marky Mark couldn't rap a gift,
man! Yo, Bizee! Yo, Bizee! It's about that time!
B Fats: Time to bust a rhyme?
Onksi: Naw, Bizee.
B Fats: Time for Gertrude Stein? [Onski gives B Fats a look. They stare at each other. B Fats just shrugs.]
Onksi: Naw, Bizee! It's time for the Mother Joke of the Day! [makes a gesture cueing a rap
beat that plays under the following:] Yo! Today's Mother Joke comes to us from Pam Brown -- Br-
iz-own -- of the Horzy Pr-iz-ojects, Apartment Twelve J-iz-ay, you know the one where they found
that body at. And it goes a little sumpin' like this: "Your mother's butt is so wide that when
she backs up, it beeps!" Yo, Don Pardo, tell her what she wins!
Don Pardo V/O:[dissolve to a photo of a woman wearing hair extensions] You win...
hair extensions! Over a year's supply or three miles' worth, whichever comes first.
Onksi:[dissolve back to Onksi and B Fats] Yo, tell her what else she wins!
Don Pardo V/O:[dissolve to a photo of a stand-up comic at the Def Comedy Jam
microphone - his face is blanked out with an arrow labeled "YOU!" pointing to it] You get to
perform on the Def Comedy Jam! Impress your relatives! Make fun of that white guy in the
audience! [rap beat out]
Onksi:[dissolve back to Onksi and B Fats] Yo, yo, yo! Well, right now we gonna
watch a world-premiere video from my man, Ice-T called "Fireman Killer" -- right? [Onski's
pager, attached to his headgear, starts beeping] Ah, man! Yo, yo, yo, yo! I guess we gotta do
that next w-iz-eek. You know what I'm sayin'? 'Cause right n-iz-ow, I gotta go pick up my baby's
mother from her GED class. You know what I'm sayin'? She's studyin' to be a doctor
It amazes me that so many allegedly "educated" people have fallen so quickly and so hard for a fraudulent fabrication of such laughable proportions. The very idea that a gigantic ball of rock happens to orbit our planet, showing itself in neat, four-week cycles -- with the same side facing us all the time -- is ludicrous. Furthermore, it is an insult to common sense and a damnable affront to intellectual honesty and integrity. That people actually believe it is evidence that the republicans have wrested the last vestiges of control of our public school system from decent, God-fearing Americans (as if any further evidence was needed! Daddy's Roommate? God Almighty!)
Documentaries such as Enemy of the State have accurately portrayed the elaborate, byzantine network of surveillance satellites that the GOP have sent into space to spy on law-abiding Americans. Equipped with technology developed by Handgun Control, Inc., these satellites have the ability to detect firearms from hundreds of kilometers up. That's right, neighbors.. the next time you're out in the backyard exercising your Second Amendment rights, the Republicans will see it! These satellites are sensitive enough to tell the difference between a Colt.45 and a.38 Special! And when they detect you with a firearm, their computers cross-reference the address to figure out your name, and then an enormous database housed at Princeton is updated with information about you.
Of course, this all works fine during the day, but what about at night? Even the Republicans can't control the rotation of the Earth to prevent nightfall from setting in (only Joshua was able to ask for that particular favor!) That's where the "Moon" comes in. Powered by nuclear reactors, the "Moon" is nothing more than an enormous balloon, emitting trillions of candlepower of gun-revealing light. Piloted by key members of the right-wing community, the "Moon" is strategically moved across the country, pointing out those who dare to make use of their God-given rights at night!
Yes, I know this probably sounds paranoid and preposterous, but consider this. Despite what the revisionist historians tell you, there is no mention of the "Moon" anywhere in literature or historical documents -- anywhere -- before 1980. That is when it was initially launched. When President Josef Kennedy, at the State of the Union address, proclaimed "We choose to go to the Moon", he may as well have said "We choose to go to the weather balloon." The subsequent faking of a "Moon" landing on national TV was the first step in a long history of the erosion of our constitutional rights by rightists in this country. No longer can we hide from our government when the sun goes down.
It amazes me that so many allegedly "educated" people have fallen so quickly and so hard for a fraudulent fabrication of such laughable proportions. The very idea that a gigantic ball of rock happens to orbit our planet, showing itself in neat, four-week cycles -- with the same side facing us all the time -- is ludicrous. Furthermore, it is an insult to common sense and a damnable affront to intellectual honesty and integrity. That people actually believe it is evidence that the liberals have wrested the last vestiges of control of our public school system from decent, God-fearing Americans (as if any further evidence was needed! Daddy's Roommate? God Almighty!)
Documentaries such as Enemy of the State have accurately portrayed the elaborate, byzantine network of surveillance satellites that the liberals have sent into space to spy on law-abiding Americans. Equipped with technology developed by Handgun Control, Inc., these satellites have the ability to detect firearms from hundreds of kilometers up. That's right, neighbors.. the next time you're out in the backyard exercising your Second Amendment rights, the liberals will see it! These satellites are sensitive enough to tell the difference between a Colt.45 and a.38 Special! And when they detect you with a firearm, their computers cross-reference the address to figure out your name, and then an enormous database housed at Berkeley is updated with information about you.
Of course, this all works fine during the day, but what about at night? Even the liberals can't control the rotation of the Earth to prevent nightfall from setting in (only Joshua was able to ask for that particular favor!) That's where the "moon" comes in. Powered by nuclear reactors, the "moon" is nothing more than an enormous balloon, emitting trillions of candlepower of gun-revealing light. Piloted by key members of the liberal community, the "moon" is strategically moved across the country, pointing out those who dare to make use of their God-given rights at night!
Yes, I know this probably sounds paranoid and preposterous, but consider this. Despite what the revisionist historians tell you, there is no mention of the "moon" anywhere in literature or historical documents -- anywhere -- before 1950. That is when it was initially launched. When President Josef Kennedy, at the State of the Union address, proclaimed "We choose to go to the moon", he may as well have said "We choose to go to the weather balloon." The subsequent faking of a "moon" landing on national TV was the first step in a long history of the erosion of our constitutional rights by leftists in this country. No longer can we hide from our government when the sun goes down.
How about the distraction of a non-camera trained blogger in his/her pajamas ranting about something that wasn't fit material for a mainstream news outlet? That's pretty distracting. Don't even get em started about the mass of specialty video blogs - it will be like a web-wide cable access free for all!
Slashdot Mirror
Shut yer friggin yap
-Combine that with my Explosive Diarrhea and you have the makings of a world-class shitfight.
Fuck Lao Che Airlines! Worst. Service. Ever.
n/t
Esteemed Digg Colleagues,
I wish to hijack this forum (and your eyes) for but a moment - I wish to tender my official notice of candidacy for the office of Official Digg Troll! You must Digg me in to This Officious Official Office!
Digg! Digg you Lazy Irish Bastards!
"Why Should I Digg?" You may say in between bites of day-old KFC.
"Good Ask" I retort!
My platform is this:
A Troll in Every Thread!
I hereby deem to post a ceaseless tornado of annoyance and petty personal attacks; aimed equally at ALL Diggers - be they gay, straight, lesbian, german, viking, or gay - NONE shall be left unoffended or royally sick of my shit!
Speaking of shit! I further extend my promises to include volumes of scurrilocity never experienced before! You fucking cock-soaked assgreasers.
scurrilous (skûr-ls, skr-)
adj.
1. Given to the use of vulgar, coarse, or abusive language;
foul-mouthed.
2. Expressed in vulgar, coarse, and abusive language.
scurrilously adv.
scurrilousness n.
So DIGG You Ingracious ham-pressing fuckfaced toiletdippers! DIGG!
You're sick of hearing 'Sweet Jesus Christ'?
I can hear the gates of Hell creaking open at your arrival!
Could you assist by rimjobbing me for the next 72 hours?
Anyone mind teabagging me for 186 hours?
fuck my ass
My Balls are on fire!
Can I cool them off in your mouth?
The movies shot first...
I'm Chillin'
Onski
B Fats
[The "I'm Chillin'" clubhouse. Two hot dancing ladies in Afros, shades, and red, white and blue outfits shake their groove things as music plays and the "I'm Chillin'" logo appears.]
Don Pardo V/O: Live, from the Marcy Projects, it's "I'm Chillin'!"
Singers V/O: Hip-hop hooray! Ho! Hey! Ho! Hey! Ho!
Hey! Ho! Hey! Hey!
[B Fats dances into the room and pauses with one arm raised to herald the arrival of his smaller, thinner colleague, Onski. The two sit down on the club sofa -- but not until Onski has pulled a gun from his pants and dropped it by the door. The dancing ladies exit as the two guys, wearing shades, denim outfits and colorful headgear, address the camera.]
Onksi: Yo, yo, yo -- what's up! Welcome to "I'm Chillin'!" I'm your host Onski, to the highest degree, to the T.O.P. Yo! It's all about ME! And sittin' by my side is my main man, the dapper rapper, the toe-tapper, the Frank Zappa, the girl in his lap-a, the wine from the Napa, and I know a brother like you shops at the Gap-a! It's B Fats! Yo, B! Yo, B! Tell 'em how you feel!
B Fats: Yo, I'm drivin' my car, makin' lots o' dough/Knockin' suckers out like Riddick Bowe!
Onksi: Yo, yo, yo! I hear that! I hear that! Now before I start the sh-iz-ow - before I start the sh-iz-ow - I want to say, "What's up?!" to a new sponsor. That's right! That's right! I want to say, "What's up?!" to Bitch Come Running cologne! [holds up a bottle of the product] That's right! You know, I put a little d-iz-ab behind my iz-ears and the next thing you kn-iz-ow, I'm in the middle of a house sandwich! Yo, B! Yo, B! Yo, B! I heard you like Marky Mark!
B Fats: Naw, man, I don't like Marky Mark.
Onksi: Yo, man, yo, yo, yo! Check this out! I heard you got "Good Vibrations" on CD!
B Fats: No, man! Marky Mark ain't nothin' but Vanilla Ice in his drawers.
Onksi: Yo, yo, yo -- you got that right, yo man. That kid, Marky Mark couldn't rap a gift, man! Yo, Bizee! Yo, Bizee! It's about that time!
B Fats: Time to bust a rhyme?
Onksi: Naw, Bizee.
B Fats: Time for Gertrude Stein?
[Onski gives B Fats a look. They stare at each other. B Fats just shrugs.]
Onksi: Naw, Bizee! It's time for the Mother Joke of the Day! [makes a gesture cueing a rap beat that plays under the following:] Yo! Today's Mother Joke comes to us from Pam Brown -- Br-iz-own -- of the Horzy Pr-iz-ojects, Apartment Twelve J-iz-ay, you know the one where they found that body at. And it goes a little sumpin' like this: "Your mother's butt is so wide that when she backs up, it beeps!" Yo, Don Pardo, tell her what she wins!
Don Pardo V/O: [dissolve to a photo of a woman wearing hair extensions] You win... hair extensions! Over a year's supply or three miles' worth, whichever comes first.
Onksi: [dissolve back to Onksi and B Fats] Yo, tell her what else she wins!
Don Pardo V/O: [dissolve to a photo of a stand-up comic at the Def Comedy Jam microphone - his face is blanked out with an arrow labeled "YOU!" pointing to it] You get to perform on the Def Comedy Jam! Impress your relatives! Make fun of that white guy in the audience! [rap beat out]
Onksi: [dissolve back to Onksi and B Fats] Yo, yo, yo! Well, right now we gonna watch a world-premiere video from my man, Ice-T called "Fireman Killer" -- right? [Onski's pager, attached to his headgear, starts beeping] Ah, man! Yo, yo, yo, yo! I guess we gotta do that next w-iz-eek. You know what I'm sayin'? 'Cause right n-iz-ow, I gotta go pick up my baby's mother from her GED class. You know what I'm sayin'? She's studyin' to be a doctor! But 'member what I always
You've got Forced Obsolescence!
Also - pay those fuckers .001 cent per day. Then bring in a Wal-Mart. Oh and some Scientologists.
I'm Chillin'
Onski
B Fats
[The "I'm Chillin'" clubhouse. Two hot dancing ladies in Afros, shades, and red, white and blue outfits shake their groove things as music plays and the "I'm Chillin'" logo appears.]
Don Pardo V/O: Live, from the Marcy Projects, it's "I'm Chillin'!"
Singers V/O: Hip-hop hooray! Ho! Hey! Ho! Hey! Ho!
Hey! Ho! Hey! Hey!
[B Fats dances into the room and pauses with one arm raised to herald the arrival of his smaller, thinner colleague, Onski. The two sit down on the club sofa -- but not until Onski has pulled a gun from his pants and dropped it by the door. The dancing ladies exit as the two guys, wearing shades, denim outfits and colorful headgear, address the camera.]
Onksi: Yo, yo, yo -- what's up! Welcome to "I'm Chillin'!" I'm your host Onski, to the highest degree, to the T.O.P. Yo! It's all about ME! And sittin' by my side is my main man, the dapper rapper, the toe-tapper, the Frank Zappa, the girl in his lap-a, the wine from the Napa, and I know a brother like you shops at the Gap-a! It's B Fats! Yo, B! Yo, B! Tell 'em how you feel!
B Fats: Yo, I'm drivin' my car, makin' lots o' dough/Knockin' suckers out like Riddick Bowe!
Onksi: Yo, yo, yo! I hear that! I hear that! Now before I start the sh-iz-ow - before I start the sh-iz-ow - I want to say, "What's up?!" to a new sponsor. That's right! That's right! I want to say, "What's up?!" to Bitch Come Running cologne! [holds up a bottle of the product] That's right! You know, I put a little d-iz-ab behind my iz-ears and the next thing you kn-iz-ow, I'm in the middle of a house sandwich! Yo, B! Yo, B! Yo, B! I heard you like Marky Mark!
B Fats: Naw, man, I don't like Marky Mark.
Onksi: Yo, man, yo, yo, yo! Check this out! I heard you got "Good Vibrations" on CD!
B Fats: No, man! Marky Mark ain't nothin' but Vanilla Ice in his drawers.
Onksi: Yo, yo, yo -- you got that right, yo man. That kid, Marky Mark couldn't rap a gift, man! Yo, Bizee! Yo, Bizee! It's about that time!
B Fats: Time to bust a rhyme?
Onksi: Naw, Bizee.
B Fats: Time for Gertrude Stein?
[Onski gives B Fats a look. They stare at each other. B Fats just shrugs.]
Onksi: Naw, Bizee! It's time for the Mother Joke of the Day! [makes a gesture cueing a rap beat that plays under the following:] Yo! Today's Mother Joke comes to us from Pam Brown -- Br- iz-own -- of the Horzy Pr-iz-ojects, Apartment Twelve J-iz-ay, you know the one where they found that body at. And it goes a little sumpin' like this: "Your mother's butt is so wide that when she backs up, it beeps!" Yo, Don Pardo, tell her what she wins!
Don Pardo V/O: [dissolve to a photo of a woman wearing hair extensions] You win... hair extensions! Over a year's supply or three miles' worth, whichever comes first.
Onksi: [dissolve back to Onksi and B Fats] Yo, tell her what else she wins!
Don Pardo V/O: [dissolve to a photo of a stand-up comic at the Def Comedy Jam microphone - his face is blanked out with an arrow labeled "YOU!" pointing to it] You get to perform on the Def Comedy Jam! Impress your relatives! Make fun of that white guy in the audience! [rap beat out]
Onksi: [dissolve back to Onksi and B Fats] Yo, yo, yo! Well, right now we gonna watch a world-premiere video from my man, Ice-T called "Fireman Killer" -- right? [Onski's pager, attached to his headgear, starts beeping] Ah, man! Yo, yo, yo, yo! I guess we gotta do that next w-iz-eek. You know what I'm sayin'? 'Cause right n-iz-ow, I gotta go pick up my baby's mother from her GED class. You know what I'm sayin'? She's studyin' to be a doctor
It amazes me that so many allegedly "educated" people have fallen so quickly and so hard for a fraudulent fabrication of such laughable proportions. The very idea that a gigantic ball of rock happens to orbit our planet, showing itself in neat, four-week cycles -- with the same side facing us all the time -- is ludicrous. Furthermore, it is an insult to common sense and a damnable affront to intellectual honesty and integrity. That people actually believe it is evidence that the republicans have wrested the last vestiges of control of our public school system from decent, God-fearing Americans (as if any further evidence was needed! Daddy's Roommate? God Almighty!)
.. the next time you're out in the backyard exercising your Second Amendment rights, the Republicans will see it! These satellites are sensitive enough to tell the difference between a Colt .45 and a .38 Special! And when they detect you with a firearm, their computers cross-reference the address to figure out your name, and then an enormous database housed at Princeton is updated with information about you.
Documentaries such as Enemy of the State have accurately portrayed the elaborate, byzantine network of surveillance satellites that the GOP have sent into space to spy on law-abiding Americans. Equipped with technology developed by Handgun Control, Inc., these satellites have the ability to detect firearms from hundreds of kilometers up. That's right, neighbors
Of course, this all works fine during the day, but what about at night? Even the Republicans can't control the rotation of the Earth to prevent nightfall from setting in (only Joshua was able to ask for that particular favor!) That's where the "Moon" comes in. Powered by nuclear reactors, the "Moon" is nothing more than an enormous balloon, emitting trillions of candlepower of gun-revealing light. Piloted by key members of the right-wing community, the "Moon" is strategically moved across the country, pointing out those who dare to make use of their God-given rights at night!
Yes, I know this probably sounds paranoid and preposterous, but consider this. Despite what the revisionist historians tell you, there is no mention of the "Moon" anywhere in literature or historical documents -- anywhere -- before 1980. That is when it was initially launched. When President Josef Kennedy, at the State of the Union address, proclaimed "We choose to go to the Moon", he may as well have said "We choose to go to the weather balloon." The subsequent faking of a "Moon" landing on national TV was the first step in a long history of the erosion of our constitutional rights by rightists in this country. No longer can we hide from our government when the sun goes down.
...by switching to Apple brand products and services!
Black Screen Of Death?
Just a thought...
'aunses'
Did you mean anuses? Or the correct pluralization:
Anii ?
Usage: You are an anus! You and your kin are anii!
27585 27585 17199 17199 88345 88345 80753 80753 34404 34404
58442 58442 71825 71825 43587 43587 07411 07411 66063 66063
60332 60332 55898 55898 32544 32544 14840 14840 01840 01840
14734 14734 92368 92368 53795 53795 74519 74519 71528 71528
Line 3 needs more cowbell.
You know what TripMasterMonkey?
Anonymously posting in praise of your own comments is just lame. Get a grip on your ego you friggin goof.
You're blurting again. Please check your FUD button at the door.
We called the DOG Indiana!
hoooooooooooooweeeeeeeeeeee!
It amazes me that so many allegedly "educated" people have fallen so quickly and so hard for a fraudulent fabrication of such laughable proportions. The very idea that a gigantic ball of rock happens to orbit our planet, showing itself in neat, four-week cycles -- with the same side facing us all the time -- is ludicrous. Furthermore, it is an insult to common sense and a damnable affront to intellectual honesty and integrity. That people actually believe it is evidence that the liberals have wrested the last vestiges of control of our public school system from decent, God-fearing Americans (as if any further evidence was needed! Daddy's Roommate? God Almighty!)
.. the next time you're out in the backyard exercising your Second Amendment rights, the liberals will see it! These satellites are sensitive enough to tell the difference between a Colt .45 and a .38 Special! And when they detect you with a firearm, their computers cross-reference the address to figure out your name, and then an enormous database housed at Berkeley is updated with information about you.
Documentaries such as Enemy of the State have accurately portrayed the elaborate, byzantine network of surveillance satellites that the liberals have sent into space to spy on law-abiding Americans. Equipped with technology developed by Handgun Control, Inc., these satellites have the ability to detect firearms from hundreds of kilometers up. That's right, neighbors
Of course, this all works fine during the day, but what about at night? Even the liberals can't control the rotation of the Earth to prevent nightfall from setting in (only Joshua was able to ask for that particular favor!) That's where the "moon" comes in. Powered by nuclear reactors, the "moon" is nothing more than an enormous balloon, emitting trillions of candlepower of gun-revealing light. Piloted by key members of the liberal community, the "moon" is strategically moved across the country, pointing out those who dare to make use of their God-given rights at night!
Yes, I know this probably sounds paranoid and preposterous, but consider this. Despite what the revisionist historians tell you, there is no mention of the "moon" anywhere in literature or historical documents -- anywhere -- before 1950. That is when it was initially launched. When President Josef Kennedy, at the State of the Union address, proclaimed "We choose to go to the moon", he may as well have said "We choose to go to the weather balloon." The subsequent faking of a "moon" landing on national TV was the first step in a long history of the erosion of our constitutional rights by leftists in this country. No longer can we hide from our government when the sun goes down.
How about the distraction of a non-camera trained blogger in his/her pajamas ranting about something that wasn't fit material for a mainstream news outlet? That's pretty distracting. Don't even get em started about the mass of specialty video blogs - it will be like a web-wide cable access free for all!
Please shelve this while you can. kthx.