â€â€You may as well stop right there. Because here’s the thing: though Dasypus novemcinctus has few natural enemies—hunters, dogs, coyotes, automobiles—it turns out they’re not too fond of foul-mouthed, mendacious “progressive†trolls, either, and the nest of those creatures who’ve taken up residence here of late has the little guy resigned to shelving his disco shoes and wide-collared satin shirts until such time as that particular infestation is (to borrow his word) “iced.â€Â
In the meantime, he’s evidently just going to sit around with a bunch of rented Keira Knightley DVDS, one paw jammed down the front of his dingy jockey briefs, the other digging around in a large ceramic bowl filled with hot-buttered grub worms.
So you’ll forgive me if I don’t get all worked up about your disappointment.
Swap popcorn for the grub worms, and that sounds hauntingly familiar.
God, I need a life.
I’m just proud that he got back from the Olympics. I figured he’d be strolling downtown Amsterdam right about now. Lookin for Ms. VanPuta. It woulda been on his way home, you know.
“wide-collared”, damnit! Or is that supposed to be some sort of inadvertent slip?
RACIST!
Must be Miller Time!
Your fingers must be tired. Did you set a record on verbiage (or whatever the blog equivalent of column inches are) this week?
Cheers.
PURGE!!!
It seems that Jeff’s armadillo,
has a weird sexual picadillo.
but hot-buttered worms,
will give him no germs,
nor leaves stain on the sheets or the pillow.
You should whack those foul-mouthed, mendacious “progressive” trolls in the face with your dick a few times. That’ll show them what time it is, yeh boyee!
Looks like you’d be first in line!
Maybe the little armored pervert would like hot-buttered trolls instead.
Somebody needs to tell that critter that there are thousands of ‘dillos crossing the Mexico-US border everyday willing to work twice as long for half as much.
Yeah, we’ll have to put up with the hat dance, but something is better than nothing at all……
From catch.com:
proteinwisdom | Nov 18, 05 | 9:40 pm ET
It means what it means, you wannabe-tough baby pussy. Specifically, that if you want to call me a chickenhawk to my face, I’ve added you to my AIM (you haven’t reciprocated) so that I can get your personal info, or give you mine, and we can arrange a meet up.
At which point, after I beat you like a bitch, I will hold you down and smack you across the face repeatedly with my cock.
Pretty simple.
Let’s get started on this.
—
Man, that’s some wholesome, well-reasoned, civil, SERIOUS discussion right there, boy howdy. No arguing with that reasoning, uh uh, no way.
what.the.fuck.is.with.all.the.sword.play?
Don’t get me started on Dasypus novemcinctus’s natural enemies. Because, in normal circumstance, I don’t like to talk about myself.
Oh, very well. Where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a 15-year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we’d make armadillo helmets. …
(OK, so I stole it. It’s not like I shaved my testicles.)
KM,
What? Breathtaking doesn’t interest you?
…sit around with a bunch of rented Keira Knightley DVDS, one paw jammed down the front of his dingy jockey briefs, the other digging around in a large ceramic bowl filled with hot-buttered grub worms.
Wow, that’s wierd. Jack Black does the same thing.
KM  Natural enemies? You mean besides a three-wood (if the little bastid stays curled up you can get some excellent loft on the drive…)?
Yeah. The guy from Catch.com—Kevin something or other (check out his badass pic; he’s like a wannabe Kevin Federline)—decided to call me a chickenhawk. Kept doing it, as I recall. Wrote a post on it or something. Filled with bravado at my lack of courage.
So I told him that while I’m not in Iraq, I’d gladly kick the shit out of him if he’d like. Which would settle the chickenhawk thing. After all, unless he’s quit his job to protest the war full-time, he is about as much as a “dove” as I am a chickenhawk. Because I had a full-time job taking care of my kid.
Seemed a fair compromise.
Anyway, sent him my IM address. Invited him to put his money where his mouth was. But he never responded. Instead, he just told a bunch of his friends, who like to post my reply all over the place (or maybe it’s him doing it under a bunch of aliases; wouldn’t put it past him). It’s supposed to bother me, I guess. But, hey, my words, so post ‘em if you got ‘em. I don’t deny writing them, nor do they embarrass me.
As for tough guy Kev? Never contacted me. So I can only guess he didn’t want me to beat him like a bitch and then slap him across the face with my cock.
Which, can’t say that I blame him for that. That’s a humiliating thing, I’d imagine, getting beat in the face by my cock.
While living in Texas, I never hit one, though I saw plenty of ‘em as stains on the road. However, I was warned to avoid running over them as they can jump up and do great damage to the undercarriage of the vehicle. ?True?
tw: possible. An answer to my question? Maybe if I ask and shake it again…
Why am I suddenly glad I’m not a regular commenter?
Only keep an eye on him to make sure he isn’t switching hands, and sniffing them during the transition. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, per se, but, ya know, the other ‘dillos can be so cruel, and who needs the effects that kind of a head trip can lead to, ya know?
You have paws?
On topic perhaps, I once attended a conference in Texas. The low point would have been the Armadillo races, had it not been for the one working keg of beer and 400 people in line…
Getting shot in the face is far from the worst that can happen.
Let’s debate!
I lived in Texas for 10 years before I found out that armadillos weren’t born dead by the side of the road.
I guess they were just sunning themselves in awkward positions.
turns out they’re not too fond of foul-mouthed, mendacious “progressive†trolls, either
Not true, I’ve seen him commenting over at Balloon Juice regularly, he satire-troll posts as ppGaz. That always makes me laugh.
Come to think of it, that has me worried. I haven’t seen him lately and now he ain’t dancing either.
Was this book on your Amazon wishlist?
Jeff, look. We love you. That’s not in dispute. But I’m just not quite sure how much longer we can go on like this!
Well, Jeff, you need someone to hold your coat, you know who to call.
Hopefully he’ll only ask you to hold his coat.
That would be the hope, Robert.
I said PURGE, you heathens damned by God, you dasypusian apostates, you sensual buggerers of the divine fried onion! Do you think that the holiest of thighs will part for the scabbed likes of you, with your calloused over-rubbed privates and your self-important bon mots? Sons and daughters of whores! Malformed, wretched half-births!
Jump back!
I’ll oppress you!
For God, I’ll do it!
– I’ve come to the conclusion that Jeffs ‘dillo is a distant cousin of the Warner Brothers Opera singing Frog….
– In fact if we ever actually got past the endless “reason de’ tarre” of why he never puts out with the dance, I would expect a loud, surly, half drunk version of “Hello My baby, hello my honey, hello my good-time gal-l-l-l-l-l-l-l”, rocking the rafters as long as no one opened the stage door…
– Until some such event manifests, I will continue to believe the ellusive rodent from Avon is just a cleverly crafted Attention getting device that unfortunately for all of us long suffering Goldstein groupies, has worked just all to fucking well – Damn it…….
– The worst of it is I bet it was his wifes idea in the first place……