Off At Tangents: Tip Bin Shuffle

Not sure about mud flaps but I've got some flood maps that are hysterical.

I think I still have a mood wrap from the '70s

We skimmed the rocks on the water. We tread grounds unseen as the sun was going down. We could barely contain our sense of adventure even when exhaustion had long set in, or darkness was blocking our path. When all of us happened to finally simmer down for a moment of unanimous clarity, we all agreed that the mosquitoes could f**k off somewhere else and die.

Climb Bulgaria. 

Swift is the pain to your face.

Theres a cat in the hornets nest.

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...

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

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

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