What if?

Joyce DeWitt actually dressed the way you saw her in your mind when you were watching "Three's Company?"

What if?

You had to stand in line at the bank in front of Vince Edwards.

Would you nipples get hard?

Sometimes you can keep saying it over and over....

But some people can't get the point.

Or points. So to speak.

Jesus loves pointy ones.....the bible tells me so!

Just sayn'

I believe in all the points of the Consatitution.

Constitution. With an emphasis on the pointy tits. Just sayin'

The Penis Monologues (A Shortened Story) by Michael H

It was 1965. August 23rd, 1965 to be exact. DC was its usual sweaty, swampy, suffocating self. It felt oddly normal for me, if even slightly comfortable.

I had just returned from two years in Viet Nam. I was used to the heat and the sweat. Thirty days leave in DC would do me good, I thought. Get my mind off of the war, meet some chicks, drink cheap beer, be a tourist, a normal person for a while before shipping back to Nam.

On August 23rd 1965 I woke up in BOQ at the Army base in DC. It was a Saturday. I showered, dressed and hit the chow hall for breakfast. My plan was to visit the White House; take the tour with hundreds of other Americans, blend in for a few hours.

There were protests in DC that summer. The base commander waived uniform rules, and encouraged off-duty personnel to travel around the city in civilian clothes. I dressed in civvies, plain khakis, a short-sleeved madras shirt, socks and penny loafers. Blend in, I thought.

After a short cab ride and I was queued up for the White House tour. We were told that the first family was in the WH that day, so our tour wouldn’t include any private, family areas of the WH. Jaded as I was, I hoped to catch a glimpse of the old man, or maybe one of his daughters. They had big hair, and big, ratted hair was sexy back then. I wanted and needed sexy.

The tour was okay, interesting even. The WH was smaller than I thought it would be. The history was fascinating, though. And the art was beautiful.

Part way through the tour we heard a ruckus of footsteps and saw a small crowd of Secret Service agents hustling the President from one area to another. He saw us. LBJ saw the tour group. Not one who could keep away from potential voters, President Johnson turned and bolted toward our group, his big paw of a hand extended in greeting.

“Haw’re y’all tudday? Ah’m Predident Johnson. Kin Ah shake all y’alls hands?” he barreled.

He went down the line, shaking hands, pounding backs, kissing children. He got to me and looked at my head. My haircut was Army short in a world where non-Army hair was hippie-long. “Boy, you inna Army, ain’t cha?” he asked me.

“Yessir”, I said, “Lieutenant Second Class Hasenstab, sir, just home from a tour of duty in Viet Nam” I replied.

Son, Ah’m a militerry man myself” he barked. “Was a pilot in WW Two, flew for MacArthur. Got my ass shot out of a B-26. MacArthur hisself awarded me a Silver Star.”

“That’s very courageous, sir.”

LBJ turned to someone behind him and said “Luci, tell Mama we’re havin’ a guest for supper, an’ take this gennelman with you to the family room. Y’all can talk about college or Texas or dancin’ that damn frug or whutever y’all want ‘til supper. Lieutenant, welcome to the Johnson’s house. Yer gonna stay and have barbecue with us for supper.”

I was shocked when two Secret Service guys grabbed me, and pushed me toward a woman my age who had big ratted dark hair. She was wearing a sweater to cover her pointy breasts, even though it was August. August 23, 1965 to be exact.

TO BE CONTINUED

Current Events Corner

My grandmother always told me that if you have nothing good to say about someone you should say nothing at all.

I have nothing to say.

Eulogy To A Hell Of A Dame

some dogs who sleep At night

must dream
of bones

and I remember your bones

in flesh

and best

in that dark green dress

and those high-heeled bright

black shoes,

you always cursed when you drank,

your hair
coming down you

wanted to explode out of

what was holding you:

rotten memories of a

rotten

past, and

you finally got

out

by dying,

leaving me with the

rotten

present;

you've been dead

28 years

yet I remember you

better than any of

the rest;

you were the only one

who understood

the futility of the

arrangement of life;

all the others were only

displeased with

trivial segments,

carped

nonsensically about

nonsense;

Jane, you were

killed by

knowing too much.

here's a drink

to your bones

that

this dog

still

dreams about.

Charles Bukowski

You really hate your heathers!

In the least popular poll ever in a late surge Heather Graham nipped out a victory.
The final results:

Heather Graham 9
Heather Thomas 8
Heather Locklear 6
Heather Martarazzo 1
Heather Mills (not a leg to stand on) 0

So that sucked. The least amount of votes ever. So what do we do?

Why ask what is your favorite police procedural show?

Pogo is right!

Medicine will not be pretty once Obama has the government take it over. Socialized medicine in the future will make everyone wait forever for necessary procedures.

And elective surgery? Forgetaboutit!!!!

All you fans of fake titties pay attention. We are having a "Save our Silicon" party in front of Scores tonight at midnight. Bring dollar bills. Thank you.

No seriously! Tell me where you got your outfits.

No seriously! Tell me where you got your outfits. I want to make sure that we never buy anything from them. No really I mean it. You look like a fucking avocado with camel toe.