Under the proper circumstances, a broccoli crown inadvertantly scorched in the microwave can smell an awful lot like the feet of a late-twenties Scotch-Irish woman who’s just completed a spirited game of racquetball.
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Burnt broccoli is one of the most fetid odors ever.
2nd place…brussel sprouts
ugh!
That’s where we get the word “fetid” from. It means “smells like feet.”
Maybe you should avoid cooking Broccoli or maybe buy the precooked boilin bag kind, cuz if my memory serves me correct you stunk your house up like grodie feet by burning some broccoli not long ago as well.. This is strike 2 , dude.
The feet of a late-twenties Scotch-Irish woman that has gas gangrene or something.. maybe.. cuz I’ve never smelled feet that came close to burnt broccoli.. not even in the army barracks with 78 other feet that just finished humping the hills in the sun all day… Dude, if the ends of her toes are black, her feet are rotting.. just so you know…
Turing word: sun
yeah.. all day long.. in the freakin sun.
Be all you can freakin be!
And Alpha Baboon authors two in a row and four of the last six comments! How’s that OCD coming?
Jesus, Bill, you’re obsessed. It’s really becoming pathetic. Shut the fuck up, asshole.
CraigC – wow! way kewl man!! that was so grate!!! fantantabulus!! got yur own blog? will reelllly luv to reed yur stuff! yur so aspiring! shur gave this luser a run fer the muny!!!!!!! ahahahahahaa
Have your fun, moron, but you’ll never get close to that shit, will you?
Tell us about how high your SAT scores were again, Uncle Craig!
I wasn’t talking about SAT scores, idiot, and I said at the time that I was embarassed that I let you pull my chain on that. Go think about Sondra and jerk off, you sad, bitter little man. I’m done with you.
I don’t understand – I mean, I don’t even know what Sondra K looks like.
“I do not like the feet of a late-twenties Scotch-Irish woman who’s just completed a spirited game of racquetball. And I haven’t liked it since I was a little kid and my mother made me eat it. And I’m President of the United States and I’m not going to eat any more feet of a late-twenties Scotch-Irish woman who’s just completed a spirited game of racquetball.”
Turing = industry, as in Stamping out PW flamewars with Bush 41 allusions hopefully will not become a big industry.
Sanity Inspector, are you implying that the consumption of broccoli is akin to cannibalism? In which case, I’ve done something highly transgressive this evening.
Jeff. Go with the Gooogle ads. You’d be raking it in with Odor Eater and Dr. Scholl’s ads. Really.
Right, Jeff, I’ve made 48 cents in two months.
Gail, if you annualized that, you’ll be enjoying a fresh cup of hot Starbucks[TM] brew by year’s end. Yum!
Rome wasn’t built in a day.
Get out. My feet smell like the Bruce after racquetball. Although it is true am somewhere around 40.
You know, if you put that burnt broccoli in a zip-lock, and put the zip-lock in the back of your fridge for a month, it would maybe smell as bad as the feet of an early thirties, petite italian woman who washed the car in her sandals and then spent four hours walking around the Little League ballpark in 90 degree heat. In the same shoes.
To get the full effect, though, you might want to take the bag out of the fridge and drop it on your lap while you relax on the couch and watch Storm Stories on the weather channel (I love watching white trash swim).
Gail, you’d make more off the ads if you just got rid of all that content that eats up your available ad space.
Is “stank” a food group?
Jeff, thanks for that. Broccoli is now off the ol’ shopping list….forever.
Your wife’s Scotch/Irish. Oh man…I’m sorry about anything bad I’ve ever said about you. You need anything? Bag of Biscotti? Maybe some good coffee? What’s your iTunes account name, let me load you up.
(My father’s side is Scotch/Irish. The women are pure evil. Run dude, get out before she turns and she will, oh yes…trust me, she will.)
The password without any irony is “boys.”
You ate it anyway, didn’t you?