nope, just not doing it for me |
Even though he could make a mean omelet, his breakfast never caught on |
nope, just not doing it for me |
Even though he could make a mean omelet, his breakfast never caught on |
Papa? |
We get it, you're a big deal |
Papa? |
Not the Four Horseman of the Apocolypse |
Meatloaf rotting in the fridge. No, I won't do that actually. |
Still not the Four Horseman of Apocolypse |
Oh C'mon now |
So even in death this animal is playing...a dead animal. Egregiously redundant, no? |
Other than that Miss Lincoln, how was the play? Great character development, no?
|
If anyone reading is offended by any of the content in this post, I hope you understand that most of it is the result of me opening a door that wasn’t locked when I was nine. (pictured left)
Actual temperature: 48 degrees, fog thicker than whale blubber
On a side note, if they have to make SPF that high, probably a good sign the ozone layer is now the same thickness as dental floss.
Sorry Ipiktok, all that was for nothing, sun is out, gosh darn weather man
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There are a plethora of companies now coming out stating they are making their products with real sugar. That’s awesome! Real sugar! Wait a second-what the f was I eating before?
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Is it too much of a strain on public parks’ budgets to put a door on their bathroom stalls? I know we are in a down economy but sheesh! I still can’t figure out what is more embarrassing; having someone walk in on you doing your business, or walking in on some unsuspecting random chap. Listening to someone in the next stall is one thing, but being having an open view of the fortuitous debacle is another.
“Oh hey there, I was just uh washing my hands. I uh…”
(guy straining on pot, vein on forehead visibly protruding)
“So, going anywhere nice on your holiday? You know what I’m just going to use a tree…”
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When my Microsoft Word goes “not responding” and a pop up comes up and says “do you want to send the error report?” Where does that go? Bill Gates himself, or does the computer just take me for an idiot as I sit there and wait for no return?
Ok, Bill I’ll leave the line open for you, give me a ring to discuss.
RAM: Oh shit Johnson, we didn’t know he’d actually click “Send Report.”
ROM: I know me neither. What the kilobyte do we do now?
RAM: Just completely stop responding, and keep that hourglass in full cycle until he gives up. Eventually he’ll just assume it is because of all the porn he’s been downloading
ROM: Good call RAM. You always know what to do
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8 THINGS THAT WOULD FREAK YOU OUT IF YOU HEARD THEM FROM YOUR MALE GYNECOLOGIST
1 Let me just finish up this shot of Absinthe, and then we’ll get started
2 Oh wow, there’s my stethoscope; I was looking for that
3 Nice Vulva!
4 I’ve never seen one of these close up before
5 Don’t mind the intern in the closet, he likes to watch
6 What are you doing after this? I have a few more vaginas to take a close look at but I’m pretty much free after that
7 Ok looks like we are all finished up here yeah? Cigarette?
8 A Zipper
Sorry I had to do that but I can’t think of a more awkward situation than a woman going to a male gynecologist
This sign posted on the door of my local market seems a bit gratuitius. “We are open,” “Back Door," and “Ur Anus” should never been used in the same sentence unless you are at Gay Pride, passed out next to "Moby Dick" bar. And even then it comes across as a bit desperate. Maybe it is just me, but wouldn’t back door and Uranus essentially mean the same thing, or would you have to be more specific? Wait, I've got it - its got to be your back door perhaps. Use the back door on my anus? Wait a second, that's the same friggin' thing... C'mon you're messing with me right guy?
You can read all my blogs at http://stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com/
Happy Reading...
People are always saying, “oh that Robert, he sure has a taste for fine dining,” like it is some sort of miraculous trait. Everyone has a taste for fine dining; we just choose not to spend sixty bucks on a taco we can buy for three bucks at Taco Bell.
I don’t have great disdain for weathermen, but I wish they wouldn’t try and confuse us with their devious weather reporting. For example they’ll say “Today will be 62 degrees but it feels like 67." Granted, I’m no meteorologist, but if it feels like 67, wouldn’t that make the temperature, gee I don’t know – 67? This is like when my friend Tony tells me he is buying a house for $200k but it is worth $400k. If your thermometer says 67, then just save us the discombobulating condescension and tell us it will also feel like 67.
I’d imagine the best part about becoming a figure skater if you’re a guy would be avoiding the awkwardly painful conversation with your Dad explaining to him you are a homosexual; he just puts two and two together.
People are always saying, “stop drinking, you’re going to kill brain cells.” If I was a brain cell and I’m going to die anyway I think I’d want to go by means of some sort of intoxication, perhaps at the hands of a hot new microbrew? Or, getting vaporized due to a peyote trip - now that’s how I’d want to go.
It’s a pretty good indication your spelling skills are going downhill, when the Microsoft Word spell checker, which has access to over twenty million English words, doesn’t even bring up the word you are trying for as an option.
You can read all my blogs at http://stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com/
This week's blog brings us to really not much of a blog at all. Pissed off? Want to stop reading? (Go ahead you're probably one of two people actually reading anyway). Do you feel like you've just spent $14 on a movie ticket only to sit down in the theater on a small village of melted sour patch kids, and then realized you've accidentally chosen the edited version of Black Swan, the one without the lesbian scene?
This week's blog is a far-from-wonderful marketing write-up that never actually was published anywhere. With that said, that didn't stop the staff here at Depths of Debauchery from posting it. When you're finished, a two-hour movie about ballet won't seem so bad after all...
Whether it was in the back alley of a neighborhood 7-11, in your Uncle’s moldy basement, or on the streets of Compton playing Craps, everyone remembers their first forty ounces of malt beverage bliss. My first experience was out on a marsh in Marin County on a frosty winter night. Granted, at that location there were no surly homeless lads harassing me for loose change, no basement dwelling rodents, nor the looming threat of a semi-automatic weapon being discharged in my direction, but there were tiny marsh frogs, and let me tell you - they can be pretty menacing. The real concern, however were the arctic temperatures, and with each sip of my Ranier Ice beverage, my fingers became less like the moving devices I was used to and more like elongated ice cubes. Had the “40ozcozy,” the brilliant invention described in this blog been created before that night, the looming threat of frostbite would have been replaced by pure 40oz drinking enjoyment.
For those of you who have not used a standard beer koozie, you’ve probably been in a coma, spent too much time at the library or possibly are just a normal god-faring respectable individual, so good for you. (Buy yourself a round of Shirley Temples). If you do however fall into one of the aforementioned categories, the concept is simple; your can or bottle fits snuggly inside a neoprene jacket, keeping the frosty coldness inside, and your hands warm on the outside. The first step is to find a koozie that you like – maybe it’s a tattooed college logo on your koozie that tickles your fancy, or perhaps a creative design fitting your personality is more your desire, or more likely - whatever koozie happens to be in the vicinity at the time of drunken need. When done, you simply deposit your empty solider in the trash and plop a new one into your koozie, making it the only drinking accessory to witness to your lifetime BAC level, which for most of us is around 8,771.9.