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Registered User
Join Date: Apr 2009
Location: Lansdale, Pennsylvania, United States
Age: 28
Stats: 5'11", 185 lbs
Posts: 964
BodyBlog Entries: 0
BodyPoints: 0
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My other stolen favorites:
sometimes when no one's home I enjoy seperating m&m's into color groups and pretending they're little villages of people with their own economic and social problems, and then I try to fix them through free trade agreements and other diplomatic measures
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What man are you Seriously whoever is doing this needs to stop right NOW!!! I dont care how many times you got shot down by Quin or how big you think this is making your penis. I will clearly say that if you do not pull down these pictures you will be giving me approval to beat the ever loving **** out of you. Look at my profile and look at my pictures, I AM 6'2"...
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Without delay i grabbed my gym bag and headed out the door, stopping for a moment to consider hiding this dangerous substance should i die in the gym. I clutched my bag and scrambled to my car. On arriving at the gym I consumed the creatine beast and clutched my mens health magazine as tears rolled down my face, i had gone down the path of no return. I sat in my car until the initial effects wore off. Exploding into Ballys i quickly flashed my badge and ran to the drinking fountain to replenish my bodies need for water. My muscles were straining, The creatine steroids were transforming my body into the brad pitt physique body builders yearn to achieve. I knew the worst was yet to come.
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Jen, I want to say something before this whole thing gets out of control. In 1967, in the hot desert sun, a woman gave birth to a boy in the back of old pick up. She was a whore. She left the boy at a local church. The father at the church didn?t like children, but he knew that being a disciple of the bible he couldn?t possibly not take the small kid. Instead he ended up taking out his frustration on the boy. At the age of three, the boy was forced to use the toilet. Let me tell you the little fell into his own pile of poop more than once. By the age of 5, the boy the boy was reading the bible and chopping wood for the fire. Despite the father?s harsh character, the boy loved him and thought of him as his true father. By the age of seven the father raped him three times. The boy ran away. He survived four days in the desert by eating cactus and scorpions. He was finally found by a drug cartel boss, who took the boy in. Mr. Sanchez was his name, and he was immediately impressed by the boys intelligence and grown up attitude. Mr. Sanchez provided the boy with an education at a private prep school and a nice house. The boy had sex for the first time when he was 12, the next year he graduated high school. He was the school?s star running back. The boy was lost, although he liked Mr. Sanchez, he never thought of him as his father. The boy went to India, were he became a spiritual leader of a large tribe of farmers. With his power he turned the several plots that each tribe member had into a large corporate farm and became a millionaire. His assets grew as he bought into other successful start ups. He often got ahead in business with his great leadership abilities, but once in a while he used violence. This was India after all. By the time he was 22, the boy had all the money he would ever need. So he bought a yacht and traveled the world for 10 years. For 10 years he visited every major port, slept with girls from every country imaginable, and tried every drug ever made (by nature and by man). When he was 33, he was walking on a beach in French Guiana when he met a girl of Irish - Native American decent. She bared his seed. It was boy, perfect health. He moved them to Argentina, then London, and eventually Vermont. The man was 45 now, he has seen everything, accomplished everything, tried everything. He skied down the Swiss Alps, been at the North Pole, swam with hammerheads, everything! Yet he has never done one simple thing that we all take for granted every day, he met his father. He never played catch with his father, he never talked about women with his father. He never would. He died at the age of 63 when his parachute didn?t open when he was base jumping from Dagger Mountain in Washington, USA. Over three thousand people attended his funeral.
Now Jen, I know what you are thinking. How does this story relate to me? Well I want you to go all the way back to the beginning of the story and remember the woman who gave birth to this incredible boy. You are like this woman. You are like this women because you are whore.
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My job is so goddamn unbelievable. I'll try to sum it up by first telling you about the folks I work with:
First, there is this supermodel wanna-be chick. Yeah, okay, she is pretty hot, but damn is she completely useless. The girl is constantly fixing her hair or putting on makeup. She is extremely self-centered and has never once considered the needs or wants of anyone but herself. She is as dumb as a box of rocks, and I still find it surprising that she has enough brain power to continue to breath.
The next chick is completely the opposite. She might even be one of the smartest people on the planet. Her career opportunities are endless, and yet she is here with us. She is a zero on a scale of 1 to 10. I'm not sure she even showers, much less shaves her "womanly" parts. I think she might be a lesbian, because every time we drive by the hardware store, she moans like a cat in heat.
But the jewel of the crowd has got to be the ****ing stoner. And this guy is more than just your average pothead. In fact, he is baked before he comes to work, during work, and I'm sure after work. He probably hasn't been sober anytime in the last ten years, and he's only 22. He dresses like a beatnik throwback from the 1960's, and to make things worse, he brings his big ass dog to work. Every damn day I have to look at this huge Great Dane walk around half-stoned from the second-hand smoke. Hell, sometimes I even think it's trying to talk with its constant bellowing. Also, both of them are constantly hungry, requiring multiple stops to McDonalds and Burger King, every single damn day.
Anyway, I drive these bastards around in my van and we solve mysteries and shiit
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Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the
strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold
M&M duels.
Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure,
squeezing them together until one of them cracks and splinters. That is
the "loser," and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to
go another round.
I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and
the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that
the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theatre of
competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.
Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or
pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be
a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength.
In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.
When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest
of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack
it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars,
Inc., Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3x5 card reading,
"Please use this M&M for breeding purposes."
This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free
1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this "grant money." I have set
aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we
will discover the True Champion.
There can be only one.
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I like parties, but I don't like pinatas because the pinata promotes violence against flamboyant animals. Hey, theres a donkey with some pizzazz. Let's kick its ass. What I'm trying to say is, don't make the same Halloween costume mistake that I did
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