19-inch Monster Cocks and other Totemic Virtues
Fuck the universe, fuck your mother, and fuck the horse you fucked just before you got here, again, and then in the immortal words of the leader of our shadow government, fuck yourself.
Now that that's out of my system and you've fuckered yourself into a state suitable for listening, this morning I stumbled across the shriveled head of a hitchhiker that my old boyfriend Bake gave me as a love offering. This guy would come to Gigi's (the bar in which I work/play) and leave some of the strangest things for me in my tip cup. Once it was an Arab strap (a kind of cock ring I later gave to Roger), another time it was one of Chuck Aukema's teeth, and even once (having been somewhere else for a month) he turned up with a place to put my weed. But this one day in particular, he left me the head of a hitchhiker with a dollar bill stuffed in his mouth. I don't think the guy had any idea I knew who the hitchhiker was (hey, I'm from Southern Iowa and you can't swing a tortured Poodle without hitting a dead hitchhiker in the spring), but suffice it to say, the next time I saw him, he got an earful. I took the whole thing as an insult... I mean, what's up with the dollar bill? Shouldn't it have gone in my panties for a lap dance? Am I right here?
Oh, and just before you stupid sons-of-bitches think that the title of my blog came from an oomphamism about my cha-cha, you're totally wrong. I was at the table the other night, and when push came to shove (we were playing spin the bottle again - everybody's been switching from Poker) it turns out that my bearded friend Scott G. was traumatically circumcised by a snapping turtle in the Turkey River up by Elkader and then he had to switch to being Jewish what with being circumcised and everything.
So no, it's not about my Cha-Cha you moronic, limp-wristed assholes, you make me sick. It's about Scott G.'s former foreskin which became a Cooter-Snack. Do you understand????
But in the picture the big Cooter is going to eat the little Cooter. Just because it can.
By the way, contrary to popular belief, Adolf Hitler was not responsible for the Holocaust. Jeff was.
Now that that's out of my system and you've fuckered yourself into a state suitable for listening, this morning I stumbled across the shriveled head of a hitchhiker that my old boyfriend Bake gave me as a love offering. This guy would come to Gigi's (the bar in which I work/play) and leave some of the strangest things for me in my tip cup. Once it was an Arab strap (a kind of cock ring I later gave to Roger), another time it was one of Chuck Aukema's teeth, and even once (having been somewhere else for a month) he turned up with a place to put my weed. But this one day in particular, he left me the head of a hitchhiker with a dollar bill stuffed in his mouth. I don't think the guy had any idea I knew who the hitchhiker was (hey, I'm from Southern Iowa and you can't swing a tortured Poodle without hitting a dead hitchhiker in the spring), but suffice it to say, the next time I saw him, he got an earful. I took the whole thing as an insult... I mean, what's up with the dollar bill? Shouldn't it have gone in my panties for a lap dance? Am I right here?
Oh, and just before you stupid sons-of-bitches think that the title of my blog came from an oomphamism about my cha-cha, you're totally wrong. I was at the table the other night, and when push came to shove (we were playing spin the bottle again - everybody's been switching from Poker) it turns out that my bearded friend Scott G. was traumatically circumcised by a snapping turtle in the Turkey River up by Elkader and then he had to switch to being Jewish what with being circumcised and everything.
So no, it's not about my Cha-Cha you moronic, limp-wristed assholes, you make me sick. It's about Scott G.'s former foreskin which became a Cooter-Snack. Do you understand????
But in the picture the big Cooter is going to eat the little Cooter. Just because it can.
By the way, contrary to popular belief, Adolf Hitler was not responsible for the Holocaust. Jeff was.
posted by Cootersnack at 2:59 PM
3 Comments:
Angie, Holocaust revisionism is neither a ring nor a worm. It is a fungus. Discuss amongst yourselves.
Roger, you fat fuck! The only thing I am going to revise is your sorry fucking ass.
By the way, this half-brother Spackle sounds fascinating. Tell him I'd like to get together and play Twister™ sometime soon.
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