It has been more than twenty years since my brother taught me how to ie a necktie. I dressed up as a man for Halloween one year while my good friend, Jeff, dressed up as a woman. Since Wil will being wearing his nice suit for Rosy’s wedding, I went internet searching to refresh my knowledge of necktie tying. It took awhile, but I finally got it (again). Woo Hoo!! Playing with hubby’s necktie? Kinky!!
My friend, E, passed this to me today. I think you’ll enjoy this bit of Sunday humor:
In Pharmacology, all drugs have two names, a trade name and generic name. For example, the trade name of Panadol also has a generic name of Paracetamol. Amoxil is also call Amoxicillin and Nurofen is also called Ibuprofen.
The FDA has been looking for a generic name for Viagra. After careful consideration by a team of government experts, it recently announced that it has settled on the generic name of Mycoxafloppin. Also considered were Mycoxafailin, Mydixadrupin, Mydixarizin, Dixafix, and of course, Ibepokin.
Pfizer Corp. announced today that Viagra will soon be available in liquid form, and will be marketed by Pepsi Cola as a power beverage suitable for use as a mixer. It will now be possible for a man to literally pour himself a stiff one. Obviously we can no longer call this a soft drink, and it gives new meaning to the names of ‘cocktails’, ‘highballs’ and just a good old-fashioned ‘stiff drink’. Pepsi will market the new concoction by the name of: MOUNT & DO.
Thought for the day: There is more money being spent on breast implants and Viagra today than on Alzheimer’s research. This means that by 2040, there should be a large elderly population with perky Boobs and huge erections and absolutely no recollection of what to do with them.
If you don’t send this to five old friends right away there will be five fewer people laughing in the world!
Until next time…
Poor Titan has had a rough day. Last night he started holding his tail close to his body as if he was in pain. He had this happen about two years ago. We thought that he and Max had played too rough causing Titan (Tinky Winky as we relate it to the faggot Tella Tubby with the sore butt) to hurt his tail. The vet had to express his anal glands and gave him some pain meds. Today’s vet visit was two years ago revisited. Dr. Blanchard put the gloves on and stated that he needed to express Titan’s anal glands and remarked that it would smell nasty. Theresa, my sister who was with me, immediately excused herself to step outside for a smoke. She, the Big T, who is known for her iron stomach couldn’t handle the day’s biological incident. They ended up taking poor Titan to the back and sparing us the smelly mess. Theresa’s puppy, Army Ranger, who is now five months old sacrificed his manhood today by donating his balls to the Spay and Neuter Clinic AKA Snip ‘N Clip. After leaving our vet with Titan and his poor sore butt, we went to pick up the groggy and now no-nads Army. Titan must have been having flashbacks to his own snipping and clipping as he gave Army one hell of a sniff over. Theresa pointed out that at least Titan could take his mind off of his sore ass while commiserating with Army over his missing balls. Tonight Army Ranger is sleeping off the effects of his loss while Titan still has a sore butt. Poor babies!!!
Until next time…
I hate getting all that fucking junk mail that gets crammed into our mail box every week. Back in November, I wrote my two cents worth about the subject. Here it is:
It never fails!!! What happens on Tuesdays? You guessed it – Junk Mail Tuesday!! Every fucking week there is a big pile of shit stuffed into the apartment complex’s mail boxes. The large trash can next to the mail room door overflows with more than three hundred discarded bundles of the crap. When I checked the box this evening and found our weekly murdered tree, I had just had enough. I decided to send a clear message of discontent to the postal service on behalf of myself and all of my fellow tenants. I had just the right meal under my belt for the job – beef cubed steak, rice and gravy, sweet whole kernel corn, and some Mich Ultra. The walk to the mailboxes had digested my dinner enough that I had a little more room to snarf down another helping of good ole rice and gravy. I then gulped down an eight ounce cup of that oh so slippery Goldschlager in preparation form my mission. Six months of this weekly bullshit spurred me onward as I knew the Florida heat and humidity would definitely drive my disgruntled opinion home to our ever dependable postal service worker upon his next day’s delivery of desecrated forestry. Damn that Goldschlager sure can knock one’s dick in the dirt. I put the mailbox key in my pocket and staggered to ground zero near the rental office. With the buzz from hell, I giggled quietly to myself as I stuffed more than three hundred piles of victimized and wasted trees back through the hungry mouth of my open mailbox. I couldn’t help but wonder how far up that little mail room all that shit would pile as I listened to the rustle and crumpling of the falling paper. I could feel my stomach churning in anticipation of making a deposit of my honest opinion on this matter of junk mail. As if talking through the mail box’s opening, I leaned in and wrenched forth a torrential gold speckled Technicolor yawn of dinner a la Goldschlager. I knew I hit pay dirt as I heard the evening’s groceries reverberate off the mail room door as they splattered back and rain down over the litter on the floor of the room’s four by four interior. It trickled down the walls like rain dripping from the trees after a May shower. After wiping residual bilious evidence from the mail box’s opening, I locked it tight for a night of steamy festering. As I staggered back to the apartment, I couldn’t help but wonder if those pretty gold specks from that oh so good Goldschlager would still be bright and shiny when the mail man opened that putrid mail room door in another eighteen hour.
I hope I didn’t gross you out too bad. LOL!!!!
Until nect time…
