—Sorry, but it ain’t gonna happen today. Seems the little guy got drunk on Amaretto sours and somehow pinched the key to my office, where he snuck himself one too many hits off my Colorado River licking toad.
And believe me—nothing is less likely to dance than an armadillo so zoomed on tryptamines and Di Saronno that he’s somehow managed to cram six whole bottles of Maraschino cherries into his body’s various openings.
On the other hand, the heavy influx of sour mix, 5-MeO-DMT, and bufotenin into his bloodstream probably has the wee stoned bastard convinced he’s a delicious fruit cobbler. So, you know, for the time being, at least, he’s living the dream!
Actually, he’s having a bad hallucination about The Wiggles.
Insert reprehensible cherry popping joke here __________________.
If you dropped him in a blender with half a cup of cornstarch and then baked him at 350 for 45 minutes, he just might be a delicious fruit cobbler. The little piker.
…one too many hits off my Colorado River licking toad.
The secret of your subject selection is revealed at last!
SB: case63
closed
This licking . . . is it consensual?
Dan , sorry I disagree . It was obviously a Banana Splits and Friends flashback .
I don’t know, Bill . . . I think he’s kinda got a thing for Snorky. NTTAWWT.
one too many hits off my Colorado River licking toad
There must be 50 genetic variations of those licking toads. I could never put my finger on why one of the machine operators in my shop seemed to be so forgetful, I mean after 25 years on the job you’d think he could remember how to make tool offsets…Monday morning I’m searching his tool box for an Indiana licking toad…OTOH, maybe he and his wife know something the rest of us don’t.
Is he dreaming of the chick in the DiSarono commercial? ‘cause I do sometimes.
Of course, the last time I had that dream after licking a toad, her ponytail became undone and her entire face fall into her tits.
And since I was already there, I was sort of weirded out.
And my wife was kind of upset when she found me kneeling naked with my face in the linen closet, covered in towels and cleaning supplies and screaming, “put your hands behind your head and pull, dammit! Your teeth are poking me in the back of my head!”
I tell you, that was an awkward Sunday at Church.
As long as that little prick Jimmy and his talking flute don’t show up , he’ll probably make it through this all right . Where ever that fucking Jimmy shows up , that bastard HR’s lurking around close by , and we all know what kinda shit he’s capable of .
LMC,
I know what you mean. Fucking organists.
Anyone interested in splitting a case of Colorado River licking toads with me? I figure if we get three or four people in on this, it shouldn’t be too expensive.
How many to a case, ahem? Any cost estimate?
Ahem ,
How much , and how damned hard do you have to squeeze them for that nice milky louche , ‘cause for crying out loud I’m not licking any toad .
Toad?…TOAD?
You mean I’ve been licking all those frogs for nothing?
Shit!
I dunno guys, I can maybe handle one, those things give me the raging shits. Older I get the less I can tolerate amphibians.
You guys know you if can get high on platypus venom?
Then again, I find my faulty adrenal gland triggered off with some alcohol really does the trick. Suuuuuuuuuuweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
I have to admit, I’ve often wondered how delightful it might be to wake up one morning and find that I’d turned into a delicious fruit cobbler.
Sure as hell beat Gregor Samsa’s deal.
I think it’s about time to hire an otter or something. You know, a critter with a fucking work ethic.
Or a working fuck ethic, whichever works. Or .. uh … well, you know what I mean.
Otter ??? ….. If Jeff hires an otter , just what the hell is it going to do , other than sliding around on it’s belly , down the piles of snow heaped about . Beaver….. now that’s a rodent you can work .
I think some of Hunter S’s ashes musta come back to earth with that last blizzard. There’s some weird shit coming out of the Rockies these days. And this post is Exhibit A.
Isn’t bufotenin 5-OH-DMT? WTF is 5-MeO-DMT? No wonder I got C’s in chemistry.
Shaman-it!
RSM,
Don’t worry about it. After all, what’s a hydroxyl group more or less between friends?
Regards,
Ric
Bill D. Cat, once you go ferret, you never go back.
Wait – it’s funny ‘cause the ‘dillo’s stoned on toad sewat, right? Or is it merely a symbolic journey to the land of toad-licking bliss?
I’m cornfuse-ed…
Film at 11.
Oops. Somebody got me with a sock puppet.
Off topic, but has anyone else noticed that Andrew Sullivan is now linking to John Cole—and that Cole is now on the blogroll of just about every leftwing attack site?
He’s being hailed as one of the “rational” conservatives—meaning, of course, “conservatives who agree with us.”
Cole recently linked my piece on Campos to suggest that we warmongers want it all—to be able to blame a loss in Iraq on the media, and to take credit for a win in Iraq by for having stayed the course while the “traitors” shouted and harangued. And we did it all, he’s quick to point out, on our blogs. You know, from behind our computer screens. 101st fighting keyboardists, and all that.
He even takes Bryan Preston to task for having presumed to talk on the state of Iraq after having only been there 4 days.
There are, evidently, degrees of chickenhawk.
Of course, my original post made the (rather uncontroversial, it seems to me) claim that years of consistent negativity from the media has had an appreciable effect on how the public views the war—and it made that point in the context of questioning an anti-war ideologue’s attempts to gloat about his own “predictions” of gloom and doom in Iraq.
Yet we’re told by Cole (and Sullivan—both “rational conservatives”),as well as by the lefty blogs, how nonsensical this is. It is only Bush’s blundering that has caused setbacks in Iraq. The media reporting? Why, that matters not a bit in a representative democracy, where people form their judgments based on the information they receive from the free press.
Ironically, we’re hearing this at the same time Democrats are trying to pass legislation regulating political speech and are making noise about trying to bring back the “Fairness” doctrine—presumably because they believe the media has no effect on how people vote.
None. Nada.
That this idiots can’t see the disconnect—or that they are too dishonest to acknowledge that I have been critical of the way this war has been faught (I want to carpet bomb children indiscriminately, remember? Hello…)—is simply breathtaking.
Cole has been drifting the way of the wannabe-maverick for a while now. And hell, he may even believe some of his own bullshit.
But when he starts misrepresenting my posts in order to mock my commenters, it’s time to say something.
Though I’m sure he doesn’t care one way or another what I think—not when he’s made Tbogg’s blogroll, or is cited approvingly by Mahablog.
CONGRATS, JOHN! YOU’VE ARRIVED!
Now go on. Call me a chickenhawk from your recumbent bike.
Did he take the cherries out of the bottles first?
Six bottles’ worth of candied cherries strung end-to-end make a cherry…filling…roughly ten times the length of an armadillo’s combined digestive and urinary tracts; even subtracting the one or two cherries gone up each nostril, and the one or two in each earhole, and however many he can hold in his cheeks while he’s got the toad-spins and a belly full of sour…
I like this guy.
And the apple stuck in your back will only make you tastier.
…
Hooooo-ha! Kafka jokes! That shit kills!
The armadillo, yes. Cole? Likely not.
Also OT, note that Andrew’s heartache will soon be moving to a new outlet.
And Mother Sheehan has a fight in the backseat of the peace train.
I think Jeff’s armadillo must have walked off the set of a spaghetti western.
Should be good for a laff when the x tries to unravel this thread .
Thank God I swallowed my milk before I got to this sentence.
Information appears to stew out of the ‘dillo naturally, like the precious otter of roses out of the otter.
[yeah, it’s stolen. Mark Twain is dead, anyway]
Not that there’s anything wrong with gay people making shoes.
do you scour lycaeum all day looking for cool drugs, or do you have a history?
*wink*
I used to scour lycaeum all day. that’s how I discovered Robitussin.
One morning, when Jeff Goldstein woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a large, delicious fruit cobbler.
He lay on his moist, tender back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his golden-brown belly, slightly domed and heaped with generous servings of sweet, warm, peach sections. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, kicked the air helplessly as he looked.
“What’s happened to me?” he thought. It wasn’t a dream. “Darling!”, he shouted. “Would you pour the last of that absinthe down the drain for me?”
I told the little bastard to stick with tequila. Not that he ever listened to me.
“Nah… too good.” Max Bialystok, The Producers
Ah, the otter, closest living relative to the badger and wolverine. God stuck the cutest face in the world on the meanest animal he could find. What a Kidder.
I’ve often wondered why we have a Badger State and a Wolverine State, but not an Otter State.
Must be the cuteness.
The ‘dillo is back!
[wipes tear from eye…]
Dillo
Thy name is disappointment