Oh ho ho my brothers, this week has been filled with far too much work and slackassery for posty goodness. Oh my, the rum flowed freely this week . . . it has been my ascertaination to fill every last free second of summer with drunken goodtimes, and if that fails at least some bloody goodtimes.
Earlier in the week, under the careful watch of the Council of The Smeltrex and Neville Helmet Hotbottom, I was beyond drunkedy-drunk. Oh my, it was fun and goodtimes abounds . . . that was until we hit the pool and played drunken turtle crotchballs. I downed half the pool in my pathetic, flailing attempts to stay afloat. Normally, swallowing pool water is a rather unfortunete moment in every swimmer's life but is paid little heed. This would apply if it was in any other pool, but this very pool has a designated 'free-range pube zone', where there is always inevitably some cluster of pubic hair floating carefree. With every gulp of pool water, a little part of me died. It was radtacular!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment