Post by wplap on Mar 3, 2010 15:03:20 GMT -5
"We are a race of tit-men, and soar but little higher in our intellectual flights than the columns of the daily paper." ~ Henry David Thoreau
For the most part, this verse could encompass many a man, but for two particular deprecated heathens, this is an "aspire to" mantra. Please welcome Ricky and Bobby Deen (not their actual names, I don't think) the spawn of lard mistress Paula Deen, Food Network's answer to congestive heart failure.
Ms. Deen birthed two baby boys who apparently were conjoined by happy-go-lucky failure, and Paula being the southern fried whore she was in her younger days, is surely trying to make up for her shortcomings as a mother by employing Chet and Donnie into her franchise, that in the end, will surely kill more people than cigarettes. While perched upon her empire of butter and sugar, she has opened doors that Sluggo and Butchie could not do themselves (I don't think they have opposable thumbs) and thanks to her gratuity, her bottom feeding children can now afford hair product enough to shine up their balding scalps...thanks Mom.
(Why is there a pubic hair on my screen?) Never mind!
Back to Todd and Brad.
For me, this is no fluke. This is not me posturing silly just so I can write something entertaining for you, this is me genuinely holding these two titty-babies in the lowest regard that I humanly can. I can appreciate Paula Deen's down home cooking, hell, it's the same food that has killed most of my family, in turn, saving me guilt. Thanks Momma Deen! But alas, I must hold Paula guilty by her maternal association and wag the mighty shame finger in her direction. The only thing worse than low-floating morons are those who would keep them from smacking their empty heads on the bottom, nulling them of their own moment of clarity when they realize they are worthless to this society...or at least to me(which is good enough).
Paula, you are a good god fearing southern belle, you cook up death like any good southern woman would and maybe you had unprotected sex with one too many truckers....not judging, we have all been there. I can forgive your sexual mishaps and the second hand murder of all those folks who frequent your restaurant or try to conjure up your recipes at home, but I cannot let stand the two Muppet dicks you have bred into this world. The worst part of course, is the intermittent cameos, which of course I could turn the channel when Jethro and Bubba pop in, but at that point I am so close to finishing myself off...I don't want to switch channels and accidentally ejaculate to Wolf Blitzer.
Food Network, I implore you! Hold Paula Deen at knife point, preferably a Santoku, and force her to breastfeed BobbyJim and Cletus. Make them swallow the sour concoction of booze, salt, and trans fats, which will hopefully kill them sooner, more so than later. Let Natural Selection do its intended job and peel off the unneeded layers of Deen boys. Thank you.
For the most part, this verse could encompass many a man, but for two particular deprecated heathens, this is an "aspire to" mantra. Please welcome Ricky and Bobby Deen (not their actual names, I don't think) the spawn of lard mistress Paula Deen, Food Network's answer to congestive heart failure.
Ms. Deen birthed two baby boys who apparently were conjoined by happy-go-lucky failure, and Paula being the southern fried whore she was in her younger days, is surely trying to make up for her shortcomings as a mother by employing Chet and Donnie into her franchise, that in the end, will surely kill more people than cigarettes. While perched upon her empire of butter and sugar, she has opened doors that Sluggo and Butchie could not do themselves (I don't think they have opposable thumbs) and thanks to her gratuity, her bottom feeding children can now afford hair product enough to shine up their balding scalps...thanks Mom.
(Why is there a pubic hair on my screen?) Never mind!
Back to Todd and Brad.
For me, this is no fluke. This is not me posturing silly just so I can write something entertaining for you, this is me genuinely holding these two titty-babies in the lowest regard that I humanly can. I can appreciate Paula Deen's down home cooking, hell, it's the same food that has killed most of my family, in turn, saving me guilt. Thanks Momma Deen! But alas, I must hold Paula guilty by her maternal association and wag the mighty shame finger in her direction. The only thing worse than low-floating morons are those who would keep them from smacking their empty heads on the bottom, nulling them of their own moment of clarity when they realize they are worthless to this society...or at least to me(which is good enough).
Paula, you are a good god fearing southern belle, you cook up death like any good southern woman would and maybe you had unprotected sex with one too many truckers....not judging, we have all been there. I can forgive your sexual mishaps and the second hand murder of all those folks who frequent your restaurant or try to conjure up your recipes at home, but I cannot let stand the two Muppet dicks you have bred into this world. The worst part of course, is the intermittent cameos, which of course I could turn the channel when Jethro and Bubba pop in, but at that point I am so close to finishing myself off...I don't want to switch channels and accidentally ejaculate to Wolf Blitzer.
Food Network, I implore you! Hold Paula Deen at knife point, preferably a Santoku, and force her to breastfeed BobbyJim and Cletus. Make them swallow the sour concoction of booze, salt, and trans fats, which will hopefully kill them sooner, more so than later. Let Natural Selection do its intended job and peel off the unneeded layers of Deen boys. Thank you.
