December 19, 2011
edited by ANDREW HICKS
Once he'd stared into his right hand for an hour or so without blinking, Kim Jong's hand would turn into Satan and give him relationship advice.
Who the fuck is Kim Jong Il, and why is he dead?!
Kim Jong Il dead? Man, and I thought he was just ill. Turns out I was dead Jong.
Kim Jong, are you serious?! This is seriously fucking my fantasy dictator team. It’s the playoffs!
Weekend at Kim Jong’s. Now THAT would be funny.
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December 2, 2011
edited by ANDREW J HICKS
Liverpool, 1979: Mama Cass gets down and dirty at the Bee Gee glory hole.
My bedroom window sucks as a glory hole. Nothing glorious about it.
Oh, the entire concept of a glory hole just… I don’t know if I can place that level of trust in an unseen, anonymous stranger. “Hi… Yep, first time… Anyway, here’s my peen.”
Agreed. I mean, you gotta be ballsy to use a glory hole.
But not too ballsy, ’cause balls wont fit thru there.
My luck, on even my most sexually adventurous of days, I’d wind up on the business end of a scalpel-wielding psychopath known as the Glory Hole Weenis Collector or something. Course, the upside of being a eunuch is, I could always front a Bee Gees tribute band.
Fuck yeah! I love the Bee Gees!
How many of them have died? The other two, right? I just heard Robin has some sort of cancer?
Yeah, I thought two of the three died of cancer. God hated those Brothers Gibb.
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