ATTN: EVIL ROOMIE AND NIVEK.

[Doktor Howl]

Bump

[Remington]

[Remington]

[Remington]

[Remington]

[Remington]

More to come once my homework is done.

[Cainad (dec.)]

  Still funny even after the fact!

Remington is strong in the ways of WOMP.

[Remington]

I need to get my hands on a copy of the Hitler Freaks Out clip, sans subtitles.
When I do, there will be glory.

Edit: Also, KILOPOST

[Doktor Howl]

 

[the last yatto]

EVERYONE IN THE CAR!

[the last yatto]

OMG snow crab was huge, that i jokely asked wip if it was really king
salmon wasnt bad either

there was a couple behind us, sad story really. 
guy probally works in IT has a wife
who wasnt the woman he was dinning with,
when she asked him if he was going to leave her
I ALMOST DID A SPIT TAKE

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I kind of want someone to swoop in and take me to red lobster right now.

[Remington]

I kind of want someone to swoop in and take me to red lobster right now.

*Idea* 
I need another copy of that "amazed at lightbulb" picture. The link went bad, and I need it for Glorious LobsterWOMP NAO. Please to provide?

[Richter]

I ate dinner at Red Lobster last night.  I ordered the surf / turf type combo they were offering, and consumed a mediocre steak before begining my work on a lobster that surely flirted with the low end of legal size (I guess the fisheries federales can't be bothered to fuck with the anyone except lobstermen.)
Upon cracking into what I expected to be the crisp, flavorful delightof the sea roach's tail section, I noticed an off flavor, and correctly deduced that this lobster was not a product of the noble atlantic, but instead the trash- fed denizen of some entrepreneur's semi-salinated birthing tanks.  MY ire rose within me, and agravated the scaly sores that reside bellow my belt line. 
What could I do?  My perscription creams and salves all an hour way from my current locale, I made do with what I ha to quell horrible burning that would make Buddha self - flense with a cheese grater should he feel the effects.  I dumped the butter down my trousers, and for the moment it helped.

The waiter asked how my meal was, and I told him it was acceptable, but I really did need more butter.  It was provided without notice, thank god.
The itching returned, and I repeated the dairy product baptism of my loins.
Flagging the waiter, I requested more butter.

MY stress was rising at this point, exacerbating and enlivening my horrid scabberous lesions, I called after the oblivious maitre-d and inquired if a double portion could be brought.  The oblivious fool obliged me, and I once again greased my cursed, turgid nethers, as foul clear efluvia began to run from the enlargening gashes.

About this time, other patrons began to become unnerved.  The uncanny smell of my afflication combined with the scent of warmed butter was wafting over them.  Appetites were lost. 
As time carried on, and my repetitions of suplication to tht snearing aasshole of food service became more apparent, with no corresponding reduciton in my sub - piscine meal, I got up to storm out, gratifying my fellow patrons with a good view of my well lubricated and befouled loins.

As I stormed out as regaly as one can when insulated by such a combintion of semi congealed butter and rancid emission, to the  gasps of horror and impotent prayers to god from my turncoat fellow patrons, I began mentally writing my memoir to the disability advocacy groups describing in detil my poor experiennce and asumed degredtion at the hands of this mercilless and nonaccepting provender of seafood.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I ate dinner at Red Lobster last night.  I ordered the surf / turf type combo they were offering, and consumed a mediocre steak before begining my work on a lobster that surely flirted with the low end of legal size (I guess the fisheries federales can't be bothered to fuck with the anyone except lobstermen.)
Upon cracking into what I expected to be the crisp, flavorful delightof the sea roach's tail section, I noticed an off flavor, and correctly deduced that this lobster was not a product of the noble atlantic, but instead the trash- fed denizen of some entrepreneur's semi-salinated birthing tanks.  MY ire rose within me, and agravated the scaly sores that reside bellow my belt line. 
What could I do?  My perscription creams and salves all an hour way from my current locale, I made do with what I ha to quell horrible burning that would make Buddha self - flense with a cheese grater should he feel the effects.  I dumped the butter down my trousers, and for the moment it helped.

The waiter asked how my meal was, and I told him it was acceptable, but I really did need more butter.  It was provided without notice, thank god.
The itching returned, and I repeated the dairy product baptism of my loins.
Flagging the waiter, I requested more butter.

MY stress was rising at this point, exacerbating and enlivening my horrid scabberous lesions, I called after the oblivious maitre-d and inquired if a double portion could be brought.  The oblivious fool obliged me, and I once again greased my cursed, turgid nethers, as foul clear efluvia began to run from the enlargening gashes.

About this time, other patrons began to become unnerved.  The uncanny smell of my afflication combined with the scent of warmed butter was wafting over them.  Appetites were lost. 
As time carried on, and my repetitions of suplication to tht snearing aasshole of food service became more apparent, with no corresponding reduciton in my sub - piscine meal, I got up to storm out, gratifying my fellow patrons with a good view of my well lubricated and befouled loins.

As I stormed out as regaly as one can when insulated by such a combintion of semi congealed butter and rancid emission, to the  gasps of horror and impotent prayers to god from my turncoat fellow patrons, I began mentally writing my memoir to the disability advocacy groups describing in detil my poor experiennce and asumed degredtion at the hands of this mercilless and nonaccepting provender of seafood.

That was... unnerving, and made better by the evidently inebriated state in which it was written.