Oh man, that’s some serious shit. In Italy, those gnarled clumps of hail are referred to as Il testicolo congelato di Satana which, translated to English means Satan’s Frozen Testicle.

Mama mia.

That, I cannot refute. Cumulocockus… fucking gold.

Crazy, right? A goddamn head-on crab salamander. Who thinks this shit up? Clouds are bonkers.

Bonus points if you noticed the cumulus cock.

For fuck’s sake, why no Glockopotomus?

-Always hungry, hungry (for murder.) -Dat ass

That’s not a horse, it’s a damned butterfly and you know it!

Thank you, FabioTNO, for providing much-needed insight on the topic of fecal adhesion and permanence.

You seem to know your shit.

“Is Pepsi okay?”

:/

I think they absorb meat liquids so they don’t pool at the bottom of the tray. Probably just to make it look more appealing.

To be noted: My keyboard attempted to autocorrect “pool” to “poop.” I am not displeased.

Nope nope nope… Fuuuuuuck that noise. Tube steak appears to not be a viable option.

For me.

You know, I never even thought about how much liquid weight those little diapers accounted for.

I have heard of “tube steak”. I’ll check into that.

“You have no air here, Gandalf the Gray.”

Mmmkay, but if I were to buy one of those nut butter steaks, it sure as shit better come with one of those little meat diapers in the bottom of the package.

Don’t you cheat me.

Betcha still updooted and laughed. I mean, I did.

Fucking camper…

These boners… I mean, I’d love to meet the dude who came back to the KKK HQ Doublewide and was like:

“Okay boss, I done gave out all them memership papers. We’ll have new recruits in no time. Yeet.”

“Great, Randy, where did you take them? The gun shop, VFW hall, and golf course?”

“Nope, I took ‘em to the churches.”

“Which churches, Randy?”

“The BLACK ones! Hahahahaha!”

“Jesus fucking CHRIST, Randy! Do you know how much those things cost to print? I mean fuck, Randy…”

Okay, hear me out on this one. I know it’s a little off-kilter from the main topic of the post, buuuuuuut…

If the Sky Homies really wanted to convince us that Jesus was the son of god, why didn’t Joseph have him? You know? It’s one thing to say, “Right, so here’s what happened: a goddamn mothman flew into my room, knocked me up without banging me, I totally didn’t cheat, and this kid’s gonna be the shiiiit someday.”

It would be a whole other irrefutable, indisputable, holy fucking titballs buckle up Nancy type of situation if it went like this: “Hey, my name’s Joseph. You can call me Joe. Anyways, I just shat out a kid, pretty sure that’s a miracle.”

The End. Fin. Salute.

But nope, people are supposed to believe the first one. Swing and a miss, I’d say.

I honestly just came across it while browsing “All”, and it wasn’t that far of a scroll. Didn’t even realize how old the post was when I crafted my tomfoolery. I wonder if one person commenting brought it back to life?

Tell ya what I’d do. I’d be like “Yo, Ukraine, let’s finish this shit.” And Ukraine would be all like, “Oh yeah? Why don’t you finish deez nutz?!” I’d probably laugh a little bit at that, but I wouldn’t let Ukraine see me. Then I’d go “Nah man, for real. Let’s square up at Chuck E. Cheese.”

Ukraine probably thinks we’re in for a parking lot fight, or some shit like that, but nope. I’d challenge Ukraine to a fucking winner-takes-all ski ball match. And you know what? Ukraine would goddamn accept.

I’d intentionally be a little bit late, so Ukraine would be all hanging out in the parking lot and shit, getting hyped up and rowdy. Then, I’d roll up in that glorious janky-ass bitch with the curved up deck.

I know what’s up. Ukraine knows what’s up. We do this thing.

It’s goddamn savage. I’m not just hitting the middle hole, no… I’m fucking sinking shots into those little corner holes that are worth, like, 10,000 points a goddamn piece.

It’s merciless. Unrelenting. Ukraine loses epically, and collect their casualties as they slink into the darkness on the edge of the parking lot.

Fuck me, though, because I gotta deal with this goddamn aircraft carrier in a Chuck E. Cheese situation now.

So, anyway, that’s how I’d do it.

Okay, hold up. If those figures are accurate, according to my calculations Sniffignoli Bonaduce there would be smelling 66.66666667 (repeating, of course) hams per hour, IF he worked a 12 hour day.

Goddamn, ham man.

I’m posting from Memmy for Lemmy on iOS, but flip between it and Mlem as they out-update each other. Glorious days, these are.