There was a lot of screaming in the cigar cabinet yesterday. Three football games! Lots of testicularity! American men (and two women) just love big shiny behinds prancing around astroturf, then posing bent over, every glutei straining, just before erupting in a brief frenzy of motion.
This is all very sexual. I have to worry about my fellow citizens.
I do believe that they are twisted beyond redemption.
Electro shock is highly recommended.
Stun them, till quiet.
Conversation was impossible. I came home reeking of Dominican filler, and with a headache.
THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER!
[SOURCE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQXVHITd1N4.]
That's music to meditate by.
I feel much better now.
Some dingbat with a bald head and an illegal Habano tried to make a crack about the Eurocup. His sense of humour is stunted and jejeune.
Water of a duck's back.
Energy drinks were passed around, along with bags of sportsfan kibble.
The Sub-Indian talked all day. On and on and on. I'm sure I'm not the only one who wanted to stuff some ripped-up roti into his face and tell him to "please now to be shutting the choot all up ji only".
Oh bapribap, ulu-bhai, bapribap.
They are all bananas.
I am a saint.
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