Smack! Ah!
Chicken fried bacon! With cream gravy dipping sauce. Once again, you can thank jw for this. The “chicken fried” construction — for the sake of you Johnny Foreigners out there — means ‘dipped in batter and deep fried.’ Yeah, you can KEEP your fagotty deep-fried Mars bars!
What’s that? Only posting a Weekend Weasel on Friday is cheating? Geez, okay:
Another sex manual stolen from Tokyo Damage Report.
Look, I know you guys will figure this out for yourselves…but…never, ever, EVER, EVEREVEREVEREVERRRRR say anything in this book to a woman. ‘K?
Posted: December 14th, 2007 under blogging, food, personal.
Comments: 34
Comments
Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: December 14, 2007, 7:31 pm
You mean “Toot! Toot! Chug, chug!” isn’t legitimate foreplay?
Rats.
Comment from S. Weasel
Time: December 14, 2007, 7:47 pm
Hahaha…that was my first choice for image stealings. But I was afraid Uncle B would find it too frankly erotic.
You know Brits and trains (or perhaps you don’t).
Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: December 14, 2007, 8:05 pm
I’ve kinda gotten an idea that Brit/train relationships can sometimes be steamy.
Heh. That was by accident.
But trains can be said to have shaped (or had a hand in shaping) British culture and civilization – and the cultures of a shitload of other places, to an extent.
Comment from Uncle Badger
Time: December 14, 2007, 10:38 pm
It’s true… Look at it this way, no trains, no USA, either.
I … umm… had a box of tissues around here, somewhere…
O. Winston Link. He understood.
Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: December 14, 2007, 11:41 pm
Oh, hell yes. Trains united and settled this country, and made it great.
I read that book (“greatest thing ever” or whatever) about the building of the transcontinental RR. It was pretty amazing. Its also interesting what “spun off” of this effort, like explosives research, refrigerated freight cars for trains, the desirability of fresh produce, etc.
But the Brits built RRs all over the world.
Comment from jwpaine
Time: December 14, 2007, 11:49 pm
“My wife is weeping with delight over my hardness and enlargement.” —jwpaine, from his unfinished novel, Things I’ll Never Say, Ever
Comment from jwpaine
Time: December 14, 2007, 11:53 pm
yeah, Steam, Nothing Like It In The World was Ambrose’s best and most interesting book, IMO.
Comment from jwpaine
Time: December 15, 2007, 12:05 am
“Is it viscous?”
I read that line at first glance as “Is it vicious?” Which, quite frankly, seems more useful.
Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: December 15, 2007, 12:49 am
That was the book, jw. It’s right over there on the bookcase – somewhere.
Things McGoo never said: “I’m saving myself for my future wife.”
Oh yeah, and,”Sure, I’ll go to church with you Sunday.”
Comment from Gibby Haynes
Time: December 15, 2007, 10:17 am
I’m fairly indifferent to trains. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Something else, I mean. Actually, come to think of it – no, I’m not indifferent to trains; I’ve got a powerful dislike of them. This is modern Britain. Travelling by train is a miserable experience. It’s expensive, unreliable (*Bing-bong*’The 7:43 GNER to Newcastle is delayed due to a cow in a field giving the train driver a sarcastic look, prompting industrial action. This service is cancelled for the forseeable future.’*Bing-bong*) and uncomfortable (you have to commit life insurance fraud to be able to pay for a ticket that guarantees you a seat, otherwise you spend the journey sat in the connecting doo-dad basking in the unholy stench of one of the backed-up toilets). Travelling by train in modern Britain has been known to cause Spontaneous Anal Bleeding (SAB).
‘You’ve got a great navel. It’s so exciting to know that this is where you were connected to your mother’s progeny manufacturing node. Oh, hey, look – a piece of lint. Have you noticed that it’s always blue? Why is that?’
‘What are you doing? This isn’t turning me on at all…’
‘Smack!’
‘H-hey, what are you doing?’
‘Smack! Smack!’
‘Ow, stop hitting me! I’m calling the police!’
‘Smack!’
‘…’
Comment from Jessica
Time: December 15, 2007, 1:13 pm
Of all the blogs I read, I love the comments here the best. You all crazy.
That picture is hardening my arteries as I look at it.
And if any man points out the depth of my navel, I will kick his ass.
Comment from S. Weasel
Time: December 15, 2007, 1:52 pm
I feel truly blessed with my commenters, Jess. A more impressive gathering of minds has surely never been assembled outside the walls of a state institution of some kind.
And I know me some state institutions.
Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: December 15, 2007, 1:55 pm
MY favorite aspects of this blog are all the free prizes and the discount vacation packages.
And the Hot Babes with Navels feature, of course.
Comment from Dawn
Time: December 15, 2007, 2:12 pm
Amazingly within two months of using this website I have seen new (fill in the spam blank – hair growth, larger penis, sources of stay at home income). Other people have noticed as well. I feel alot better about myself and have gotten some confidence back, Thank you. I finally found a website that works.
Comment from Dawn
Time: December 15, 2007, 2:14 pm
Oh crap – was that a blogger faux pax? Please don’t hissssss “it’s a blog not a website…”
Comment from S. Weasel
Time: December 15, 2007, 3:00 pm
I’d be more likely to hiss the other way around, Dawn. I didn’t get into blogging for the longest time because I was all Stuckup McSnootersons about it. I was, like, “blogs are for people who can’t code. I have a website.”
But then if you’re doing manually what blogging software does automatically, it’s a gigantic pain in the butt. And I’m nothing if not bone lazy.
Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: December 15, 2007, 3:15 pm
Besides, Dawn…no worry!….faux pax shrink without surgery here! Trust me!
IMHO – any place that has its own domain is a SITE. (sniffs arrogantly) sweasel.com is a SITE. Harrumph!
Comment from jwpaine
Time: December 15, 2007, 6:05 pm
Sorry to differ, Weez, but just yesterday me, Steam, Gibby, Lokki, Dawn, and Does 1 through 27 were assembled outside the walls of a state institution to show our support for the acquisition of 100 more women (don’t ask me why Dawn insisted on joining us; she’s quirky, but a tad too quick with that butterfly knife, so ix-nay on the ide-snay omments-cay).
And I’ve got the arrest report to prove it.
Comment from S. Weasel
Time: December 15, 2007, 6:34 pm
Ahhhh…institute architecture. I’m a fan. Remember my trip to an insane asylum crematorium? Good times.
Comment from porknbean
Time: December 15, 2007, 6:40 pm
And if any man points out the depth of my navel, I will kick his ass.
I used to have a navel. Then my progeny organ grew some progeny and mangled it.
Jessica, by the time mens get to the navel, they don’t see it as their ‘little engine that could’ gets ‘tunnel vision’.
Now if you had a third nipple, that may give him some pause.
Comment from jwpaine
Time: December 15, 2007, 6:46 pm
I do. That’s why I posted a shot of Colorado’s own looney bin. When I was in high school, we had a cheer
Rootie toot toot!
Rootie toot toot!
We are the boys from the In-sti-toot!
P-U-E
B-L-O!
Pueblo! Pueblo!
[sound made by humming while rapidly flicking side of finger across lips]
Comment from jwpaine
Time: December 15, 2007, 6:49 pm
I also remember a similarly-themed joke when I was a sonar tech in the Navy:
What’s the difference between an idiot and a sonar tech?
An idiot goes [sound made by humming while rapidly flicking side of finger across lips], and a sonar tech goes [sound made by humming while rapidly flicking side of finger across lips, following by a cupping of the ear while wearing an attentive expression]
Good times, indeed.
Comment from jwpaine
Time: December 15, 2007, 6:50 pm
pork, you gotta get that progeny organ under control. And remember: It’s a fetus until it graduates medical school.
Comment from jwpaine
Time: December 15, 2007, 6:51 pm
‘tunnel vision.’ ‘little engine that could.’ heh-heh.
Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: December 15, 2007, 7:07 pm
I remember that post, Weaz. Seems like a loooong time ago.
I was calling you “Sir”, and Wabbit was still posting.
Comment from S. Weasel
Time: December 15, 2007, 8:06 pm
Ah, then you might also remember, McGoo, that the first home I remember living in was designed by a famous European architect who also designed the local mental hospital. I feel sure I mentioned that in a Nemail.
I have hated mosaics, and turquoise, ever since.
Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: December 15, 2007, 8:16 pm
I remember it – and still have the email. You Google-Earth’ed it for me, bless you. And I was so friggin’ jealous. That was a really neat home.
Comment from porknbean
Time: December 15, 2007, 8:18 pm
pork, you gotta get that progeny organ under control. And remember: It’s a fetus until it graduates medical school.
No, can do. My progeny organ did it’s job too well. The husband likened our progeny, upon arrival, as ‘wall mounters’. Nine pounds of porky progeny each. Does remarkable things to navels, that.
Eh? Til med school, huh? That explains them being a pain in the rear (sometimes) all these years.
Comment from porknbean
Time: December 15, 2007, 8:20 pm
Whatever happened to wabbit? I remember her getting huffy about something weasel said.
Did she stop blogging?
Comment from S. Weasel
Time: December 15, 2007, 8:31 pm
She biffed her original blog, PnB…and I’m dipped if I remember what she replaced it with. There was one after that, I know. She could write, that one.
I’m so dysfunctional and I so seldom address politics that I attract the occasional lefty reader…who feels pretty comfortable rolling around here…until the inevitable Rantday arrives. I feel bad about it, but I yam what I yam.
Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: December 15, 2007, 9:02 pm
I think her nickname is amurin (or Amurin) now, but I don’t have a blog link.
Yeah, she could write…
Comment from geoff
Time: December 16, 2007, 5:40 am
It’s so different it’s hard to believe you’re both human males.”
I, for one, am both human males.
Pingback from Word of the week « The Hostages: No Bigots Allowed. And no Mexicans.
Time: December 16, 2007, 6:53 pm
[…] **Chicken fried bacon courtesy of the weasel lady, who also turned me on to frozen faggots and spotted dick. […]
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