Liz pinches THIS off:
What the FUCK? I go away for a few days and when I return, Kim (my best friend) has, in writing, accused me of fondling nut sacks across the south and, maybe worse, being a pleasure farter. Killer, my blog partner, has blessed it. I feel so betrayed!
I do not have time to respond tonight because I've got some balls to put in my mouth and some gas to release, but I am wounded.
Even though it pains me, I give kudos to Kim. As much as I know about her it takes nerve to call me a nut sack juggler and an air-raid sprayer. I wouldn't betray her just because she thinks it's ok to do that to me, but I will drop a word of warning to Kim. One word. Sascrotch.
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3 comments:
Oh lord, here we go with the Sascrotch comments again. Just because I have muff to my knees is no reason to call me Sascrotch. Gosh, Liz. That's harsh.
I did not give Kim my blessings to talk about your fondling of nut sacks. Nor did I ever talk about you flatulencing. All my discussions have been of my own testicles and gas.
I would also like to mention I do not wish to hear any more about Kim's unfortunate groin hair.
Are you making fun of people with GBS? It can be a true handicap. I haven't been able to wear daisy dukes in 10 years. Your donations would are greatly appreciated... any old hair removal devices or crotch balm or medication, such as Beaver-B-Gone, would be appreciated. Hell, a rusty razor would do the trick. I've learned to live with it. If only the public could.
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