Th' Orchestra Of Sweet Regret: One Fuckin' Year Old.
Let's draw straws for who gets to pass out th' poles.
And who gets to smoke them.
Thanks to everyone from all of us here at Th' Orchestra. It has certainly been one of the most fucked-up years in recent memory, hasn't it? No 1979, this. Nope. But not a 1939 either. So there's that.
At least in '39 they didn't have th' Black Eyed Peas. Jesus would I love to Abu Gahraib those fuckers. Dogs, enforced wanking, blindfolds. The whole dirksmirking nine. I'd like to Linndee Ingland those cock-os. I'd RATHER fucking starve to death in Birkenau than have to share the planet with the likes a them.
Sal Th' Feist says she wishes she could drop a steaming coiler on all your carpets out there for orching with Th' Stickestra.
A steaming coiler. You know, when you think about it, a steaming coiler is sort of the dark correlate of that perfect, delicious swirl on th' top of the Kool Whip.
A doppleganger.
posted by Bobby Lightfoot at 21:53
4 Comments:
Happy polesmokin' anniversary.
I'd blow you and swallow, but I can't pass as a girl.
Have fun and stay in trouble, godammit.
Holy crap, teh l4m3 had a race-change operation! And he's gone on a diet. Nice.
Happy fuckin' A, Bobby. I've enjoyed the ride.
msohgbqo (what I say when I slip on one of Sal's steaming coilers in the dark, and do a face plant into an open container of Kool Whip -- which, when you think of it, is much better than slipping in KW and landing face down in the SC...)
A belated "best wishes" on the anniversary of the Orch. o'Sw. Reg. TM.
Yeah, and zllbiv sends his best too.
Blappy Bog-a-verse-ry.
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