RoyalOrleans

In some cases, I did. In other cases, where chloroform was unavailable, I would have to go home and fantasize about it.

Most of my stories start out with a busty chick and end with property damage.

Well, I've seen it happen in similar places and I say the more the better. However, this will drive the innercity hoodrats out into the suburbs and countryside.

I am writing a Green Lantern/Sailor Moon crossover story.

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Leonard Lake is my idol.

Recently, an IKEA store opened up in Atlanta. I've been in the market for a new computer desk for a while, but I've been too stubborn to buy anything just yet. I found a desk that I liked and didn't look too cheap or clashy, with matching bookcases and other goodies, on their website. It's in stock and available at the Atlanta store. However... It's 42 miles from my home. Big deal, right? No, shitty deal. It's in the ghetto. Between 16th and 17th street in Atlanta, a white man just doesn't galantly walk down those corridors. Driving is another problem... a lot of traffic lights and stoop sitting apes staring at me and wondering what I am doing here between every stop. I'm not afraid, mind you. I've sneered at death in the face and flicked off militant Iraqis in a gunfight. What I do fear is what COULD happen. I'm damn sure some of these guys carry guns... illegally. I am a card carrying NRA bastard with a concealed weapons liscense. So nine times out of ten, I'm packing. I don't want to use it, but its there when I might need it. This doesn't make me immune to the law, above it, or anything to that effect. I just try to avoid situations where my gun is the only thing keeping fear from me. A gun shouldn't make anyone feel fearless, however these fucking porch-monkeys down on 16th and 17th street believe it does. Thus, I avoid this area at all costs. Why would a descent, reputable company open a store in the ghetto. The store just had its "Grand Opening", I guess it'll soon be its "Grand Closing".

If this had been the same guy hauling off any of the following; Indians (Not American Indians.), Pakistani, Arabs, or the French... I'd feel much better about it.

On a trip to Panama City Beach, Fla., you know the Redneck Riviera, many moons ago, a group of friends and myself recieved some horrible service at a Hooters. I know, I know... its par for the course with this chain of restaurants, but this waitress was particularly awful. She was worthy of working there, because her cleavage was pushing the strands of her cotton top to the limit. That was her only redeeming quality, my friend actually tried to pick her up. Which may have led to our sorry-ass service. So when I, I've always picked up the tab, settled up I left her a penny tip. The bitch actually followed us outside and threw her order pad and the penny at me. She called me an "asshole", which didn't phase me. Then she took her pen and scratched my buddy's Expedition. Of course, the waitress ended up without a job. And my friend sued her for damages to the vehicle and won because he had five witnesses. She pleaded guilty, so we didn't have to travel down to PCB to go to court and has since paid restitution in full. I'm sure she's back at the Hooter's. This is a lesson for all you kiddies out there, "Leave at least a nickel tip.".

I thought it was entertaining, however my respect of the Mexican people keeps me from finding this hilarious.

This was a horrible morning. I was out of coffee and had to go out and buy some. That sucks a big one, because Sunday morning I spend much of the time indoors watching ESPN. Especially in the Fall.

My first wife was a junkie and a twat with legs. While I was overseas, she'd spread her legs for any piece of man-meat she felt like sticking in her. While I was in Iraq, she got mixed up in the world of narcotics... cocaine to be specific. Then I came home, I found out what she had been up to from a friend, a friend who quite obviously poked her. I confronted her, but being the sorry homesick dog I was, I tried to make a go of the relationship. As it turned out I hated her and she hated me. The drugs loved me, though. My second wife was Puerto-Rican American and she tried to kill me with a carving knife because she found out I had been secretly socking money away in a savings account and an IRA. Of course, I had my reasons for withholding that information from her. Number One: She was the crowned Spending Queen of Marietta, Ga. Number Two: She didn't want to remain with me because of MY ethnicity... a honky-lipped cracker. Number Three: Her father loathed me and I knew if he came between she and I that I'd be out on my ass. The man actually said to me, verbatim, "you are not good enough for my daughter.". One thing I can say, she was beautiful. Had huge tits, too.

I was in the marching band.

So you're not denying that you have a mullet?

No this is where we drag you out in the alley and put a bullet in your mullethead.

They call me cool_dude.

Not a problem, dshogan1. Who are you, again?

All this pregnant talk makes me want to call all eight of my babies mamas.

I time travel every time I drink alot of whiskey. What happened last night? Where am I? Where are my pants? Where did these midgets come from? Funny, I don't remember having this tatoo before.

I believe Builder smells. Not a putrid stench, but an odor peculiar to people. Something like fresh fish and tarragon or raw mutton and thyme.

Let's not turn this into a .999 style discussion, folks. My head hurts from reading post after post of equations and arithmetic.

Don't forget mean .

I knew there was some sort of conspiracy with CES being boxed and all. I just hope none of the Off Topic Forum gang rubs off on him.

I'd say it's somewhere between 9 and 125. No real person acts the way he does.

I gave that a thought, however Ben Affleck's career was closer.