Off At Tangents: Tip Bin Shuffle

Reminds me of an old eskimo saying: "6 X 6y = (7x^8)/(67o + 2)

Otherwise known as great calendar ideas #822?


And true. Those Azerbaijani writers, prostitutes, pig farmers, thermonuclear physicists, and cat breeders know how to use scissors in ways I always forget afterwards.

Absolutely. I don't want to miss the collapsible hot tub again.

The Writer's Guild of Azerbaijan would like to invite you to it's annual Multi-Party Weekend Of Fun, Dance, And Structured Living. This years keynote speaker is Ronald B. Askjer who will be discussing the importance of obscure punctuation in conjunction with the conditions of women's rights in small European nations, in the 1970s. There will be roast duck and fountains of absinth, so please come on by!

Respond affirmatively and in a timely manner to norestinthiscountrybecauseofvariousactivities909@azerbajianaolknockoff.com with your name and how much you would like to donate to the hookers of room 7C.

Yours truly and forever,
Rahjii O. Opperhamm, President & STPL Of the WGOA

Pack the sweaters with meats.

Uncharacteristically Ugly Prog Bathroom Graffiti #61 -  Geddy Lee Sucks Goat Penis

This jail cell's too small, I want my money back

Man With Hat wrote: I drove into the night without any semblance of calm demeanor. 65 MPH. All I could do was picture her, covered in ranch dressing down by the penguin hut with her slow and deliberate gesticulations. I took another shot of Mickey's Famous Bourbon and hit 80 MPH. Bright lights seemed to pass me quickly, even though the road was empty. I put my hand on the seat next to me, expecting to find a warm body but all it felt was cold steel. I picked it up and held it to my cheek to try and determine what it was. 90 MPH. At this point the road became assumed, as I rubbed the cool metal against my exposed flesh. I neared the town of Braton. At last I found what I was looking for...a trigger. 100 MPH. Life began to emerge as the lights at the edge of town flickered above me. A train could be heard in the distance. I made two lefts, a right, another left, three more rights, and a final left and grabbed the bottle with my other hand as the gas pedal slammed against the blue-green carpet. All I heard then was a gunshot and various echoing screams...

I can imagine Jack Kerouac, Raymond Chandler and Elmore Leonard would nod their heads in approval at this

I drove into the night without any semblance of calm demeanor. 65 MPH. All I could do was picture her, covered in ranch dressing down by the penguin hut with her slow and deliberate gesticulations. I took another shot of Mickey's Famous Bourbon and hit 80 MPH. Bright lights seemed to pass me quickly, even though the road was empty. I put my hand on the seat next to me, expecting to find a warm body but all it felt was cold steel. I picked it up and held it to my cheek to try and determine what it was. 90 MPH. At this point the road became assumed, as I rubbed the cool metal against my exposed flesh. I neared the town of Braton. At last I found what I was looking for...a trigger. 100 MPH. Life began to emerge as the lights at the edge of town flickered above me. A train could be heard in the distance. I made two lefts, a right, another left, three more rights, and a final left and grabbed the bottle with my other hand as the gas pedal slammed against the blue-green carpet. All I heard then was a gunshot and various echoing screams...

Theres a cat in the hornets nest.