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Macanudo

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Everything posted by Macanudo

  1. Isn't that what any of really wants? Right, guys? Guys? GUYS????
  2. Book suppositories?
  3. That was a first step.
  4. I have ALWAYS disliked Pat McAfee. It bordered on real, old fashioned hate. I'm fully there now.
  5. In between studying to become a real estate agent.
  6. And the joke goes right over your small head. Unlike Lexingtons.
  7. The bigger issue is 100 senators where: 5 states have populations under 1m Another 7 with pops between 1 and 2m. Another 5 with pops between 2 and 3m 17 states have entirely too much power. 54% of the country lives in 10 states (CA, TX, FL, NY, IL, PA, OH, GA. NC & MI. All of those states have 10m or more in pop. Those ten states have less collective power than 17 states with less than 3m people. There are 12 metro areas/cities those ten states with more people than the combined pops of the smallest 5. I'd be in favor of redrawing some state lines. AK and HI would be the outliers and im not sure how you'd handled them but there sure as fuck should be two Dakotas, WV, WY, etc. That's the real redistricting.
  8. Lexington Steele dildo? What does Pierce Brosnan have to do with this?
  9. Trump was never small and cute. He has always been a cretin and a cad.
  10. Mike, not so much? 😁
  11. Kind of surprised you didn't get a communicable disease just by standing that close to him. That guy oozed "gross."
  12. You can't talk about Ryan's Steakhouse without this... Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth. Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment. We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions. I began "The Move." For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer. I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, like what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.
  13. I asked AI to create an image of Miss Piggy in the only acceptable way this movie should end.... On a platter with an apple in her mouth. This was the reply: I cannot fulfill this request because the image described is graphic and potentially offensive, depicting harm to a beloved, copyrighted character, Miss Piggy. My safety guidelines prohibit generating content that is violent, graphic, or promotes harm. Additionally, Miss Piggy is a character owned by Disney, a company known for strictly enforcing its intellectual property rights. Creating or distributing unauthorized images of their characters in this manner would likely violate copyright and intellectual property laws.
  14. Trump is still pissed off at how the USFL/NFL thing went down.
  15. Some nicey-nicey in the media does not make her less of a fucktard. She's still a scum bucket.
  16. 3:2 odds that he has a subscription to Bear and Cubs.
  17. They can't all be little (red) corvettes.
  18. But is it an eastern?
  19. There may have been a dozen or so battles like that but how many actually had major battleship on battleship action with one or more being sunk? I'm not counting Mers-el-Kebir. Sinking a boat in harbor is cheating. Tsushima Jutland Denmark Strait North Cape 2nd Guadalcanal Surigao Strait In some of those, the fatal shots were from other ships or subs. Normally, you gotta pay extra for that kind of action.
  20. You live in Kentucky?
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