Yeah yeah, I know, Drunkcyclist said it better and first with "Whiskey is my Yoga", but for fucktardick's sake, let me be the first to openly condemn some of my dearest friends and associates for their recent forays into healthy living and virtual asceticism...of course 'condemn' is just a euphemism for jealousy, but who the twat is keeping track at this late hour on a Tuesday in the United Snakes of Embarrassika? I, for one, am awaiting the arrival of something that we, as modern citizens of the Wurl consider to be de facto gratification: the ever elusive Email. Yes indeed, when you live a mere 5 miles from Sprint's worldwide headquarters, you have the singular ability to send pictures through email on your phone and never, ever, ever fucking ever get them on your desktop. I even resent all 20 photos through Google+ and still no Andrew Dice Clay. Since this here blog is visually based - my words are merely a Rubic's Cube of poor depth perception - I must have these images in order to satiate my only functional sense; and it is not the tactile equivalent of rubbing one out to tri-sexual goat porn from Gautemala.
10 more minutes of waiting and still nothing...maybe I can piss off Ray Rice enough to knock my cracker-ass out so when I wake up the emails will be in the inbox of at least one of the sites they were sent to?
1. Fuck Sprint
3 Fuck Sprint
4. Anally rape Sprint
I may or may maybe not have used theses images in previous posts, but I am at my VO2 max at this point in my workout, and the cranial contents are a tad swollen, much like my Members Only jacket will be this Saturday night at the aforementioned Pub n' Pedal, KC's best reason to get arrested whilst on a bike-cycle.
OOOOOOHHHHHHH SHIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTT....the fucking assclown Cloud just came in my mouth...was able to find a few of the images I wanted about 30 minutes ago.