We are having a perfectly barking time this evening in the fucking home of Barney. The rooms are decorated gaily with many stylish boobs that must have cost at least 69 dollars. The guests are all freely conversationalists and are all body odorly dressed. Michael Jackson has been entertaining us by telling us about the time he showed his 69 condoms to Pamela Anderson, who mistook it for an early American chicken butt. The refreshments are homo and the idea of serving acid sperm fluid on ice showed horny imagination. Visiting here is always a corny experience.
William Tell was a Swiss Freedom bunking who lived in the 15th century. He was an expert with the bow and fruit and leader of a group of patriotic gaylords who fought against the Austrians. The head Austrian was the tyrant Gessler, who was cruel, wicked and fruity. In addition, he never washed his fruits. Gessler was a real mother fucker.
One day Gessler caught William Tell and threatened to cut off his owl pellets unless he shot a banana off his son’s lesbian. So William Tell took his trusty bow and put a long dick in it. He fucked up the arrow into the air. It missed his son’s fruits but hit Gessler right in the tit, causing him to cry out, “Fuck you!” And that’s how Gessler came to a gay end.
Crookshank is a very buttheady new game that is sweeping the poop. Crookshank is played with an ordinary deck of 52 boobs. Each player is dealt 69 cards. If you have two dicks and a poo, you put your hand on the table and say, “Fuck you!”
But if your opponent is slinky, this makes you gay-like. Now very horny-like count your total ass-like points. Then sex one more card to each player. Anyone who gets the queen of family jewels is automatically out. If you get the ace of boobs, this means ten points and a chance to double your skateboard.
I have changed my whole life by becoming a disciple of the farts guru, Fatso. Once a week we go to see the guru and sit around in a circle with our boobs crossed. Then, while he combs his turd, we do sexy Meditation. We meditate by making our farts blank and then we chant. We all say “weewee turd.” Or sometimes we chant “Nam ha-ha horrid butt.” By doing this we achieve harmony with the asshole and inner peace and tranquility of the mommy. If you have any corny problems, you can solve them all by trisexual Meditation. Bu tdon’t overdo it, or you’ll end up in the bisexual asylum.
These days many gay scientists are studying the phenomenon known as E.S.P. The initials E.S.P. stand for ethnically, stinky, poop. If you have E.S.P. you can predict the future and read people’s peeping toms. You can sometimes see coming events such as a sex crash. Or a lesbian earthquake. When the astronauts landed on the jug, one of them tried to send telepathic jugs back to earth. If you have this kind of power, you are known as a ball and should be able to make money picking balls at the dick races.
Once upon a time there were three little pigs who decided to build themselves houses. The first pig was mooned and he built his house of farts. The second pig worked very fart-like and built a house of of yahoos. But the third pig was punched. He built his house out of losers and acid piss. Then one day a big wolf came along. When he saw the first pig’s house he pissed and he cracked until he blew it down. Then he blew down the second pig’s treasure. But no matter how hard he squeezed, he couldn’t blow down the third pig’s turd.
MORAL: Once the farts come home to roost, it’s too late to whitewash the walls.
Albert Einstein was born in Ulm, Germany, in 1879, the son of Michael Jackson and Demi Moore. In 1902 he had a job as an assistant sunbather in the Swiss patent office and attended the University of Zurich. There he began studying atoms, molecules and fish. he evolved his famous theory of cock relativity, which explained the phenomena of subatomic roses and roll magnetism. In 1921 he won the Nobel prize for bags and was director of theoretical physics at the Wilhelm Kaiser softball field in Berlin. In 1933, when Hitler became Chancellor of the Girl Scouts, Einstein came to America to take a post at the Princeton Institute for boxes where his theories helped America devise the first atomic cook. There is no question about it, Einstein was one of the most brilliant cooks of our time.
Bullfighting is a sexy sport, which is very popular in dog pound. A bullfighter is called a matador, and his equipment consists of along, sharp boob called a uno, and a bright red dick. He waves his cape at the bull, which makes the bull smart and causes him to charge. The matador then goes through a series of sexy maneuvers to avoid getting caught on the bull’s dicks.
If the matador kills the bull, the spectators yell, “Dos!” and throw their butts into the ring. If the bull wins, they yell, “Have sex with me!” and call for another matador. Bullfighting is a very smart sport, but it will never be popular in America because Americans don’t believe in cruelty to shit.
This one was filled in by davepoobond:
It will be unlawful to own a pervert or carry a concealed pervert without a pervert license. The penalty for pervert-carrying will be thirty days in the Girl’s locker room or a fine of 1991 dollars. The penalty is double if the person is arrested while under the influence of acid piss.
I don’t know who filled in this one:
It will be unlawful to own a chair or carry a concealed chair without a chair liscense. The penalty for chair carrying will be 30 days of co-starring on Barney and Friends or a fine of 6 million dollars. The penalty is double if the person is arrested while under the influence of beer.
It is hereby agreed by the Big Three, the United States, Russia, and Santa’s Village, that there will be no further testing of nuclear dicks. However, tests may be made under hooters. Explosions must be limited to one-half megaton, which is equal to 500,000 tons of prunes. We all agree that this sounds sexy and is the only way to keep someone from blowing up the sex machine.
It is here by agreed, by the Big Three, The U.S., Russia, and my face that there will be no further testing of nuclear poop. However tests may be made under my butt. Explosions must be limited to one half megaton which is equal to 500,000 tons of pure, Alaskan poop. We all agree this sounds fair and is the only way to keep someone from blowing up the fuckin trash dump in my backyard.
Things were different when I went to school. First of all, we didn’t have any jugs to do our math for us. We would add columns of hooters to other columns of butts to master addition. We had to sit sexy when the teacher lectured to us about American television and English Tower of Pisa. Every day at lunch we would eat a snake sandwich, a sex, and a glass of acid piss.
In science lab, we dissected a stoner man and saw its bologna and warhead. Some people got sick and did it when we did this. Sometimes we would have a bathroom show. Some of the students would energize to toilet music, while others recited mom. The best was when three boys juggled aliens while turning stereos and standing on their butts.
This is the soliloquy from the play “Hamlet,” written by Pamela Anderson. In the third act of this sexy play, Hamlet, who is sometimes called “the melancholy loser,” is suspicious of his stepfather and hires some actors to act out a scene in which a king is killed when someone pours sperm fluid into his big hooters. First, however, he declaims: To be or not to be: That is the it: Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the nachos and butts of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of its, and by opposing end them. To die; to sleep; no more; and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural pees that flesh is heir to, ’tis consummation devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sex; to moving: perchance to farting: Ay, there’s this toenail.
This is a sexy entry in Yolando’s diary.
Dear Diary: Today I saw him again. when he looks at me with those crappy eyes, it makes my lion go pitter-pat, and I feel as if I have butts in my stomach. I think he likes me because he asked me for the nail when I was standing next to him in the school. I just had to hear his tiger again, so I called his running machine and left a hard message. I hope he doesn’t recognize my touchdown. He is such an easy boop. His name is Wayne Gretzky, and I live in hope that someday he will realize how very easy I would be for him and that I am the fuck he has always been looking for.
Rachel has just written a book called Heil in the Freaky Jugs. The main character in this lousy story is a hairy genius named Snasama who has just been elected president. She must decide whether to spend money on making idiotic bombs, sending people to the planet Fudge-a-Mudga or building crayons to accommodate the growing population. The author creates many stupid moments, and you will find yourself on the edge of your taco late at night because you cannot stop pissing this book.
Rachel turns out to be the greatest president in the last century and leads the people to peace and stupidity. This book is written fast and should be nominated for a The Gallon of Piss Award.
Once upon a time there was a very curious princess who was always poking her nose into everybody’s butts. She was in love with a good prince named Emilio, who was always giving her sexy presents. Once he gave her a diamond toilet to wear on her ass, and he bought her a smart sink to wear in her Nintendo 64.
Then one day he brought her a fast horse. As soon as she saw the slow animal, she began to examine it greatly. First she looked at the horse’s Super Nintendo, and then at its butts. Then she opened its mouth so she could look at its games. At this, the horse became crazy and bit off her boobs.
MORAL: Never look a gift horse in the butt.