ATTN: EVIL ROOMIE AND NIVEK.

[Doktor Howl]

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.

I love this shit.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Also, the inexplicable ad at the bottom of the page right now goes with it alarmingly well.

[Richter]

Thankee 
..I wasn't drunk when I wrote that.  It was 6 aM, before coffee, and I was packe into a  commuter train PRAYING the uppity dye job high falutin Bostonite that had inadvisably crammed next to me would read over my shoulder and know horror.

[Doktor Howl]

Thankee 
..I wasn't drunk when I wrote that.  It was 6 aM, before coffee, and I was packe into a  commuter train PRAYING the uppity dye job high falutin Bostonite that had inadvisably crammed next to me would read over my shoulder and know horror.

Did he?

[Richter]

She. 
I'll never know for certain, but between the muttering to myself as I assembled my spiel, and tabbing onto blogs regarding law enforcement and promiscuous behavior (for inspiration), something alarmed her.  The 30 extra pounds of fake leather jacket torso removed themselves from my shoulder as soon as possible.

[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?

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

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?

AHHHHHhahahahhahahahSQUEEEEEE!!!!

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Bump.

[Payne]

Does anyone ever really arrive at Red Lobster? 

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

I've been to Red Lobster like, twice in my entire life. And the second time I refused to eat anything. That place is fucking scary. It's like Hotel California with dead sea bugs everywhere.

[Payne]

I've been to Red Lobster like, twice in my entire life. And the second time I refused to eat anything. That place is fucking scary. It's like Hotel California with dead sea bugs everywhere.

The Red Lobster which can be dined at is not the true Red Lobster.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

I've been to Red Lobster like, twice in my entire life. And the second time I refused to eat anything. That place is fucking scary. It's like Hotel California with dead sea bugs everywhere.

The Red Lobster which can be dined at is not the true Red Lobster.

I believe it.

[Payne]

I've been to Red Lobster like, twice in my entire life. And the second time I refused to eat anything. That place is fucking scary. It's like Hotel California with dead sea bugs everywhere.

The Red Lobster which can be dined at is not the true Red Lobster.

I believe it.

I am the Way and the Light. There is no way to Red Lobster but through me.

[Luna]

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.

[Triple Zero]

Thankee 
..I wasn't drunk when I wrote that.  It was 6 aM, before coffee, and I was packe into a  commuter train PRAYING the uppity dye job high falutin Bostonite that had inadvisably crammed next to me would read over my shoulder and know horror.

Next time write it in Word, using an extra large font so that people can read from a distance how much you enjoy pouring butter over your scabrous loins.