Member since February 21, 2010
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commented on Frog Applause
27 days ago
I will watch that TV show. A real person looking and acting like a real person is certainly a departure from real persons acting like real idiots.
commented on Frog Applause
about 1 month ago
I don’t believe in radishes.
A favorite term since childhood: Smooth move, Ex-lax.
Big Mac may not like it but all the frogs are applauding.
I had been a city boy my entire life. At age 34 my young family and I moved to Vermont (where my wife was raised) and we began to grow chickens for their meat. When it came time to slaughter those chickens it was my duty to act like a “Vermonter” and not a “Flat-Lander.” My wife and I proceeded to prepare for the slaughter. We heated water in a 50 gallon drum and prepared a clothesline to hang and drain the chickens. I grabbed my first ever chicken and tucking it under one arm I took a knife and thrust it up through the roof of it’s mouth and into it’s brain then gave the knife a twist. This procedure disabled the chicken so that it wouldn’t flap it’s wings as I slit it’s throat. With that first act of chicken murder (the very first time I had ever committed a murder of any kind) every hair on my body stood on end. I was absolutely filled with electricity. My heart rate and my breathing increased. I had to walk around a bit to calm down. It was not a nice feeling. We hung the chicken on the clothesline by it’s feet to drain the blood from it’s non-flapping body. My wife then dipped the chicken into the hot water barrel. This loosened the feathers and she was able to scrape them off instead of plucking each one.We did this 20 times. By the time we finished I was totally exhausted and dripping with sweat. I felt gawd-awful. Then I became physically ill and had to go to bed for the rest of the evening.Murder is not something I ever want to do again and that chicken killing day was the only time I have ever murdered anything. We never raised chickens for meat again.I have lived in Vermont for 34 years now and I am undeniably a Flat-Lander.
I am JohnnyDiego. I am JohnnyDiego and I am not a pumpkin. What further explanation would you need?
I’ve never taken credit for my farts. Never. I’ve always blamed it on the other guy. Even on the other girl if one was handy. My wife once claimed she never farted and this was when she was a nurse. I whiffed right through that one.
My 10th grade English teacher was named Verlin Nutter and he was a real squirrel. So I made up an extremely lewd song about him sung to the tune of The Beverly Hillbillies and I taught it to a few of my closest delinquent consorts. All the cruel and obnoxious kids in my class finally drove him out of school. Today I’m ashamed and feel very sorry for what we did to Verlin. And I cry for Mrs. Nutter because at that time she couldn’t help being with squirrel. Imagine her shock and horror when Verlin arrived and gave credence to the term.
Whenever my mother washed my bedsheets she always asked me what those splotched stains were. I told her that I had been experimenting with Nurdles and those stains were unavoidable. She said, “Okay, but don’t blow up the house.” What did she know? She’s German.
I lived in Colorado once. Elevation above 9,000 feet. I kept getting nosebleeds. My mother said it was the attitude. So I started drawing caricatures of my friends. But my nose never stopped bleeding and my ears turned into cauliflowers.
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