... and she wonders why they never call
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
About Me
- Snidely Whiplash
- Seattle, Wa, United States
- If one is the loneliest number and two can be as lonely as one then the set of all natural numbers are equally lonely. Your menage a trois can't save you. If one is the loneliest number that you ever knew than an unknown number is the optimum solution. Quit counting and start partying.
Sure, she's a compelling, scantily clad sex-fiend with homicidal tendencies, but her feet have got to smell like mummy meat in those boots.
ReplyDeleteThe question is - which one will chop the other to pieces and serve them in a pot pie to the members of the PTA first?
ReplyDeleteYou really are very clever, Snidely. Giving head. I would never be able to think up something like that.
ReplyDelete(Which reminds me of the time I told my friend that his hat is a whore, because it gets around so much, and without missing a beat, he said, "Yeah, I know, it gets more head than I ever will." I almost died.)
Strange but true- A woman I knew, who was very bull dykey, engineer boots, flannel shirt, wallet on a chain bull dykey was trying to pick me up. It was so odd and creepy I just shined her on. A few days later I heard she'd taken a guy home, tied him up and stabbed him to death. I've tried to find out what happened to her but the Denver newspaper online archives don't go back far enough. It was '82 in Cap hill and her name was Dana that's all I have to go on.
ReplyDeleteThat's a great creepy story. You lucked out, my friend. I dodged a similar bullet when I was living in a studio apartment in college. There bad been a rash of murders on campus. People were nervous as hell, and the police were on the trail of a serial killer.
ReplyDeleteI was pulling an all-nighter when I was struck with the munchies. I went down to the complex's little lounge where I noticed this spooky dude sitting in the shadows by the vending machines, smoking and staring off into space. I fed the machine, but my coins kept slipping through. I popped them in again, to no avail. The guy's eyes came into focus and slid my way. I couldn't tell if he was stoned or nuts, but something about his eyes was incredibly wrong. The machine took my coins on the third try. I grabbed my grub and got the hell out of there.
The next night, the police interrupted the killer in mid stalk and cornered him in a building. A firefight ensued, and down went the murderer. I was working at the campus paper at that point and I got a full-on case of the willies when I saw the guy's photo. To think I could've been killed. For a Zagnut bar.
Man, I so did not mean to bring up scary memories for people. I just can't help but think of crazed serial killers who want eat their victim's toe jam whenever I hear the word's "Craigslist."
ReplyDeleteWell, that and Weird" Al Yankovic's song, Craigslist....