Animal Control

quasimoto

wolves - wutang clan

ROSIE ODONNELL

indian but i just put spic because my name is raul and i look mexican

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uJTFVM2A27c LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL halfway it gets fun

sup nigaaaaaaaaa

'tis okay i understand :happysad:

You are my arch nemisis. I see you wandering around as I go about my IT Computer Nerd business: Tall. Middle Eastern. Pot Belly. We catch each others eye every now and then and give each other a slight nod. I know you, I know what you do and I am on to your games. I saw you this morning, we made eye contact. You nodded and took another bite of whatever Death-Ass producing garbage you fuel up on that makes the bathroom, smell like the inside of a dead monkey's colon, and nodded at me. I got you this time, fucker. I give you my icey grin and nod back, then hurry back to my office. It's almost noon, and that's the time you like to run to the toilet and preform your daily ASS JIHAD on all the people just trying to wash their hands. Maybe in your country there is no commen sense that would tell you that lunch time = hand wash time. People want to get clean and eat, not be fumigated with the high octane liquid shit attack you subjigate them too. But I got you this time. Yeah fucker I GOT SOMETHING COOKING UP FOR YOU! Two egg sandwiches with cheese. Greasy sausage patties. A couple glasses of Tang. Some leftover Chinese food. A Twix. Root Beer Soda. Some steamed brocoli I had in the fridge. A Hot Pocket with peperonni and cheese. A Chocolate Poptart. And like a cherry on top ... a McDonald's Quaterpounder with cheese. I never eat this shit, it's all greasy and fucking nasty, but today is the day I fight back. I go out for a quick mile jog and almsot die. My stomach feels like there are two midgets fighting to the death inside there. I walk back to work, ass clenched tighter than a virgin's thighs at Church. Great. The hot chick from next door wants to chat. She assumes the sweat on my face and arms is from running. She doesn't realize that it's a cold sweat induced by my severe sphicter trauma. She finally shuts up and I stagger to the Death Ass Arena. You are there already in your favorite stall: The one right next to the fucking sinks. You stupid, socially retarded fuck. Fine. You have yet to begin your daily purge of Middle Eastern Ass Stew. I enter the stall next to you and drop my pants in preperation of the upcomming battle. Your opening slavo is fired: A sloppy wet fart with a solid-shot closer. I laugh and show you the power of Advanced American Foodstuffs. The tuba fart I unleash echos off the walls and shrinks my waistline about an inch. The guy at the urinal laughs as I slap the wall between you and I and say "Back to YOU, Kajid!". You are silent, I assume you know who I am and that the time has come for us to battle. I know you are summoning your intestinal fortitude for full out war. You do not dissapoint me. With a hissing "SSSShhhhhzzzzzzzzz!" you squirt out a deadly spray of ass juice that pollutes the air and makes my head swim. The pisser at the urinal is no longer laughing, he quickly zips up and runs for the door. He did not stop to wash his hands, instead opting to head for the hills. I cover my mouth and nose with my shirt and the black spots dissapear from my vision. My head clears. I am ready. "AAaaaaaaaRRRRRGGGHHH!" I yell, as I drop Big Tim. That's short for "Big Timber" ... AKA "Mississippi Butt Log". Quick-fire farts stutter out of my ass, as I push the monster log from the Shit Dimension into our reality. The beefy, yeasty stench easily overpowers the Indian Ass Gutter oder of your previous attack. Mega Turd hits the water in the bowl with a mighty splash, the reek is that of a dead whale slowly ripening in the hot, tropical sun. I catch my breath and wipe my brow, and start to pat myself on the back. I should have known the battle was not over. The only thing I can think of is that you must has completly unzipped your ass to your elbow. That's the only way I could begin to explain the lumpy, creamy splashs falling out of your ass into the toilet. It sounds like you are pouring a gallon of strawberry shake with whole strawberries in it into the shitter. I see the hairs on my arms start to curl from the horrid stench wafting up from under your stall. I shudder and sway on my throne, unsure if I will survive. I have no choice. I must employ the Deal Breaker. I hunker down and clench my hands together. My fingers twitch and entwine like a nest of snakes, almost like I am running through a series of ancient Ninja Hand Symbols. My feet lift up onto the toes and my legs start to shake. "You want to play??" I growls. A low moaning comes from my stomach, like a dinosaur calling into a swampy, foggy night. "YOU GOT IT! AAAAAAHHHHHH!" Like Cloud summoning The Knights of the Round in Final Fantasy 7, I summon the Excalibur of Turd Demons to destroy my enemy. Hot magma-like shit rockets out of my ass, releasing a noxious, sticky cloud of deadly recal perfume. I hear you gag and see your feet shuffle around, but you can't get away, can you? No. You can't. Veins throb on my neck and temples as the turd monster tears itself from my bowels. My lips skin back from my now clenched teeth and I try not to scream. Your roll of toilet paper rolls into my stall. You must have torn it from the wall with numb fingers in an attempt to "Wipe and Scoot". Too late. MUCH too late! Oders pound you with merciless fists: Rotten Fruitcake stuffed with boiled chicken assholes. Hammered shit-logs served on a bed of week old white rice. Rosie O'Donnel's racid crotch farts. The smell of your mom's dank, hairy Middle Eastern armpits. Your stall door bangs open and you stagger out. You take three unsteady steps to the door and can barely open it wide enough to slip out. I laugh at you before you leave. "Yeah! RUN, Fucker!" I yell, and laugh again. You say nothing. It's all over except for the clean up. Fuck with me again, you shit filled Anal Terrorist. Me and my ass will be waiting.

mars volta fucking owns

some fucked up ears

primus jedi mind tricks the mars volta rush dead prez

nicholas cage will ferrell mos def

^ same

no u

FROGS HAVE FEELINGS TOO

About a week after getting my first truck (I was 17), I was exploring some new roads on the South Shore, and at a certain point, was going rather too quickly around a tight bend in a road between two marshy areas with high reeds. When I took the turn, I ran over dozens and dozens of little frogs that were apparently crossing the street. I felt awful. The the road finally terminated in in a cul-de-sac, and I had to go back. When I got to the turn, I got out and inspected the carnage. IT WAS HORRIBLE. It was actually close to a hundred little frogs I'd hit. They were TINY. It looked like a set of green and red skidmarks, and the little frogs near the edges of my tires had only been half-squished. A bunch of them were still quivering, or had their eyes bulging out of the skulls. One in particular, was staring at me. Its entire lower half was no more than a smear, and was stuck to the hot pavement. Its little arms were twitching, and it eyes were FOLLOWING me. I cried. While I cried, I stomped on all of them that were still alive. There were a lot, but it seemed the only humane thing to do. At about that point, two little girls rode up on their bikes and saw me bawling my eyes out and squishing frogs. They were maybe 7. They looked at me, they looked at the frogs, and then they took off screaming. I got scared for some reason. I felt guilty, and the proof of my horrendous crime was now not only smeared across half the road, but all over my white sneakers as well. I wiped my shoes off in some grass, hopped in my truck, and took off. By now, I wasn't crying anymore. By this point, I was in total control. I was running scared-- conVINCED the police, or the MSPCA or someone would be looking for me, I had to eliminate the witnesses. It was a long road, with no houses. I caught up to those little girls in no time flat-- pulled up in front of them, grabbed some rope from the back, and two red sweatshirt sleeves I had in there for hauling lumber. I tied them together, face to face, with their arms tied securely to their sides and the sweatshirt sleeves stuffed in their mouths. Then I tied their bikes to them. It was a like a weird mechanical cocoon. It was heavy, but I managed to haul the whole thing about 30 yards into the marsh , dragging the girls and the bikes from one little muddy islet to the next until I found a nice deep-looking spot in the water. I tossed them in. They struggled for a while, but were tied securely, and soon quieted. One of the handlebars was still poking up out of the water, so I jumped on the whole mess until it sank far enough into the mud to hide everything. Then I smoked a joint and a couple of cigarettes. I felt bad, sure, but at least this time I wouldn't get caught. After my third or fourth cigarette, I noticed a little frog near the water. I scooped him up and put him in my pocket. Then I walked back to the road, hopped in my truck, and went home. That frog is full-grown now. And so cute. You'd just love him. I do. I keep him on a little leash so he won't get run over by a truck.

NIG,GA FUCK THAT EAT THE BABY

Sony Walkman Phone. My brother has one and the battery life is superb. You can fit three times the number of songs with Atrac too.

I MASTERBATED TO CROSSROADS

16

half persian half east indian

didnt like the wii. so raged because i waited 4 hours in line to get it and the console sucked shit. so i sold it on craigslist for 550 with zelda, then i went out yesterday when they got new shipments and bought another one and sold it for 400. now i'm off to buy a 360.

FUCK NO

i masterbated to crossroads