Friday Time killaz....

[mustynutz]

I Called Your Boyfriend A Fag And He Hit Me With His Purse

I'm usually a nice guy. I have friends of all sorts of ethnic backgrounds, diversities, handicaps, etc. I even have a few gay friends. I just never let them stay the night at my house.

I, myself, choose not to take a big penis in my butt. But that's just my own personal choice. I'm not going to exclude your friendship just because you like anal sex. I'm only going to exclude your friendship once you want that anal sex with me.

One of my good friends, let's call him Andrew, is the nicest guy in the world. When we first met, I somewhat suspected he was gay. It didn't bother me, but I wanted him to be honest with me. I discounted the idea of him being gay because he seemed to have a lot of female friends.

I should have suspected something when Andrew wanted to take me to a gay bar because he was "broke and wanted a free drink". I knew something was up when he was broke every weekend. But-- I didn't say anything about it. I just thought he was a fruity straight guy.

I usually made gay jokes around him and he'd laugh along. No harm done. As far as I'm concerned, it's a straight guy.

Then one day he came clean. He told me he was gay .

"Justin, I'm gay."

Told you.

"I'm happy too, Andrew!"

"No, you don't understand. I'm really gay."

"Me too! I'm really happy at this moment in time."

"Justin. Stop. I'm a homosexual."

I figured I'd play along because I thought he was kidding.

"Ooh baby" -smacks his ass- "Do me, fag."

After I found out he was actually gay, I felt somewhat dirty. But oh so naughty.

Unfortunately, after he admitted to me he was gay, he started to act more flamboyant. He developed a lisp and started wearing pink shirts. When we were hanging out in public, the girls didn't really approach me. When you see two guys together and notice one is gay, you assume the other is gay.

Andrew was accidentally cock-blocking me.

After a while, I got used to it and got back to my old self around him. I even made a few gay jokes. He made some straight jokes, which didn't go over too well.

"Damnit Andrew, do you have to wear the pink shit every time we hang out?"

"Real men wear pink."

"Right. So do gay men. That makes you really gay."

Not all of my comments go over too well, although I'm only saying them light-heartedly. One time in particular, I had run into a gas station to grab us a soda and candy. When I got back to the car, I threw him a pack of skittles.

"Here. Some fruit for a fruit."

He smiled. "I love skittles. I like tasting the rainbow."

"Taste it? Hell, you'd deep throat the rainbow if given the chance."

Earlier this week, I was invited to a club (not a gay club, just a regular club) with Andrew to meet his new friend. As I entered the place, I looked for Andrew. I noticed him making out with some guy. Oh, great. I never expected to be the third wheel while hanging out with two guys.

After talking to both of them for a while, I came to the conclusion that the new guy was pretty cool. I even managed to find a girl to hang on me for the night.

As we were getting ready to leave the bar, Andrew's new boyfriend looked around puzzled.

"Hold on. Let me grab my bag."

Oh, okay. He's got a change of clothes or something.

Nope, he reaches below his stool and grabs a purse. He even slipped it over his shoulder like a lady would.

I thought I'd try to say something complimenting.

"Nice purse."

Bad idea.

"What?!", he looked at me with evil eyes.

"Um... nice purse, bud."

He then lifted the purse up, threw his arm back and hit me square on the side of the head with his purse.

"What the hell?!", I tried to go after him, but Andrew held me back.

"It's a man-bag, fag."

He then exited as I stood there speechless.

What can you really say when a gay guy calls you a fag?

 

[mustynutz]

I had recently acquired a new job. Needless to say, this was my first office environment job. It took some time to get used to it, but I think I can handle sitting at a desk all day. The great thing about this office is that it's a new business, so we don't have many clients. You know what that means-- less work.

One of the perks about this job is that my desk is in the back corner of the office. The great thing about this is that when my computer monitor is positioned just right, I can play solitaire or look at computer porn in an office full of people. To tell you the truth, I feel somewhat uneasy trading gangbang movies with Method online while not even three feet away from me, an elderly woman is talking to an office buddy about last night's church festivities.

Oh well, it's Catholic school porn, there goes the guilt.

The woman whom happens to sit across from me is the nicest Christian lady in the entire world. She brings cookies into the office for everyone, has the most polite conversations, and even bought me lunch on a few occassions. You'd figure that with all the money she's spending on entertaining the office, she'd invest in a pair of fucking toe-nail clippers.

Before you start thinking I'm some weirdo for noticing some old woman's long yellow toe-nails, you have to understand where I'm coming from. I sit in an office with several desks with computers on top. The walls have nothing on them except white paint. There's only so much I can stare at during a 9 or 10 hour work shift. Unfortunately, this woman's desk is positioned right in front of mine facing me. If that isn't bad enough, there isn't a privacy wall under the desk. Therefore, her hideous toes barely peak out from under the same fucking black sandals she wears EVERYDAY.

I can honesty say that I've seen the growing cycle of the big toe of elderly women. Everyday, the damn thing gets longer. The thing is starting to curl up.

"Why don't you just STOP staring at her feet?"

Good question. I use the same reasoning as the following example. When you're sitting on the toilet doing your duty, you read the shampoo bottle that happens to be sitting on the edge of the tub. Don't pretend you don't, you know you do. It's the same fucking shampoo bottle you read yesterday, but you keep reading it. It gives you no pleasure, yet you do it anyway.

You just can't help it. It's instinct to grab the closest bathroom essential and read it. I've also done the same with lotions and conditioners.

Unfortunately, I'm the youngest guy in the office. At 20 years old, not too many of the employees take me seriously. The eldest member of the office, Bill, has recently appointed himself office supervisor. He's a decent guy, but he has the worst memory and speaking skills--plus he's 79. I've told him my name is Justin on several occassions, but he insists on calling me Ariel. No joke.

Even scarier, I found out from my boss that Ariel is the name of Bill's deceased wife.

Bill's a good guy, but you can't carry a conversation with this man. He cuts off mid-sentence and just walks off. He doesn't even go anywhere, he just walks down the hall until he reaches a dead end, turns around and goes back to his desk.

"Hey Ariel, c'mere. Let me... uh.... c'mere."

"What do you need, Bill? And it's Justin, not Ariel."

"So Ariel, what do you think of this layout?", He'd proceed to stand up.

"Well, it's nice. Why don't you put a wider border on there to make it stand out more?"

"Good idea, Ariel. In fact, I was thinking that if I...."

He'd then stop speaking, walk off and come back ten minutes later. Never ask him where he went when he disappears for these long durations of time. This confuses Bill. Confusing Bill isn't something you want to do.

Although I'm the youngest office worker, at least I'm not the most immature. That nifty title goes to our processing supervisor, David. This guy will say anything that's at the top of his head, no matter how inappropriate or hurtful it may be. He'd rather lose his teeth before he bites his tongue. Judging by his hygeine, I'd say that time is nearing.

Earlier this week, Old Bill and Foot-In-Mouth David had a little argument. I didn't catch the details of the argument, but that's not the important part. It went something like this--

Bill: "Hey David... Can you..", Bill proceeds to go back to what he was doing, not even acknowedging that he started a conversation.

David: "Damnit Bill, could you please stop doing that? You call my name 100 times a day. Only 4 or 5 of those instances, you actually need something."

Bill: "Why don't you process these returns?"

David: "Why don't you grow some hair?"

At this point, things started to get ugly. That's when Christian long-nailed old lady jumped in.

Old lady: "David! That's highly inappropriate!"

David: "Oh no, what are you gonna do? Tell God. Go ahead. Is he going to give me a warning? Send me to God's office. Go ahead."

Old lady: "That's not funny. Jesus saves, you know."

David: "The only saving Jesus does is at Wal-Mart."

Bill: "Why don't we all just...." (goes back to computer as if nothing happend)

Old lady: "I'm reporting you to the office."

David: "Don't bother. I'm out of here!"

With that said, David proceeded to walk out. Unfortunately, I was so busy downloading blonde on blonde lesbian action (Thanks Method) that I forgot to remove my foot from the aisle. David tripped over my foot, stumbled forward about three feet, hit his head on another desk, and a cup of coffee from the desk tipped over and slowly leaked out onto his fallen body.

Then funny thing about it was he was sitting there screaming as the scolding hot coffee slowly poured onto his exposed skin, yet he didn't even bother to move. Oh, the fall was funny too. He apparently knocked his three front teeth out in the process.

Told you he'd lose his teeth before he bit his tongue.

Since then, nobody has said anything to anybody. We all come in, sit at our desks and mind our own business. And that bitch still didn't cut her toe-nails.

 

[mustynutz]

How many of you like Hooters for their wings?

Great, now how many of you like Hooters for their 40 year old waitresses with dyed blonde hair?

A few years ago, I stopped going to the Hooters restaurants in my area. I mean, it's nothing against the food, but for a restaurant whose image bases itself on hot women, they were kind of lacking. The youngest waitress was probably 30 years old. Even she looked like she was pushing 50.

Not only does my local Hooters have ugly waitresses, but the menu prices are outrageous. I'm not paying seven dollars for a burger. For seven bucks, I should get the whole meal AND a blowjob. Hell, I could find a prostitute to make me a burger and give me a blowjob for six bucks.

I would never step foot into another Hooters.

Until last night.

A group of friends and I were out bar hopping last night when we decided to grab something to eat. The group wanted to go to Hooters, so I humbly obliged.

As I stepped through the front door of the place, I wasn't expecting anything special. There was your stereotyical fat old guy sitting at the bar blowing his paycheck on food and beer thinking he actually had a shot at taking home one of the waitresses.

Then there was the group of highschool freshmen boys who couldn't even contain their boners as the waitress took their orders.

There was something different about the waitresses this time around. They were young college girls. They were also hot.

As we sat down, a young look girl with brunette hair walked up to us and took our drink orders. Nothing personal against her, but she barely had a chest. Hell, I could compete with her in the big boobs category and probably win. I'm probably barely an A cup.

As she looked down at me, she cracked a smile. I quickly covered my eyes, because her braces practically blinded me. It was as if the angels lit up the room. I was almost expecting Jesus to resurrect and jump out of her shiny mouth.

Great, a 12 year old Hooters waitress just took my order.

I had a burger, fries and a soda. The grand total of my meal came to thirteen bucks. And the bitch still wanted a tip. As we got up to leave, I pulled my chair out just in time to catch a waitress who was walking by. She tripped over the leg of the chair and fell flat on her face.

To tell you the truth, I wasn't really expecting her to fall falt down. I was more or less expecting her boobies to catch her and bounce her right back up, then she'd brush herself off and go about her business.

I apologized several times as she bent over fixing the hole that she tore in her stockings. She told me to just get my ass out. As she started to walk again, she tripped and fell AGAIN over another guy who had his chair pulled out.

I was having a great time watching boobies fly all over the place.

As we sat in the parking lot in two separate cars tlaking to each other and deciding where else we should go, a homeless man started to approach the cars. He had to walk a long distance too. I waited until he got within a few feet of my car and then took off. Stupid homeless people wanting my money.

We decided to stop into a little bar in a run down building with only 5 or 6 cars sitting out front. As we walked in, you could tell that these people are here every week. Everybody at the bar turned and looked at us, wondering who the newcomers were.

I live in South Carolina, so you bet your ass this was a redneck bar. In the corner, there was a woman with big hair butchering Hank Williams Jr's "Family Tradition" on karaoke. On the dance floor in front of her, there was a four foot talll hillbilly with a long beard and cowboy hat dancing. I'd later learn that everyone referred to him as Monkey.

My buddies had a seat at the bar as I explored the small place. The first person to greet me was a very flamboyant bartender.

"Hey fella! We never seen you 'round these here parts! I love your hair! I do!"

Should I conclude that he's gay since his greeting involved complimenting my hair? Nah, I'm not shallow. Not yet. I'll just say that he's really friendly.

"Hey there, how's it going?"

He then came up to me and hugged me.

"Oh you're a big muscly man! Yes you are! Look at that ass!"

So, NOW should I conclude that he's gay? He complimented my muscles and found my ass attractive. Nah, I'll give him the shadow of a doubt. Maybe he's just one of those guys that notices other guys' butts.

But what he'd say next would definitely cement down that he was in fact gay.

"I'm gay."

Told you.

I looked over at the bar, trying to find a way to get away from this guy. There were no seats left, so I was left standing at the end of the bar talking to a redneck homo.

"So sweety, do you like hotdogs?"

Is he asking me if I'm gay too?

"Um... well.. the only hotdogs I like come on a bun with ketchup."

"Oh you're so silly! I'm only playing with you! Loosen up!"

He's right. I should loosen up and have a good time. He invited me to play a game of pool with him, winner getting 20 dollars. What the hell, I'm a decent pool player. He can't be that good.

I was right. He plays pool more horrible than my 86 year old grandmother. And I've never seen her play pool. I can only assume that she sucks. I've never seen any billiard trophies around her house.

Okay, fuck it. I just ruined that last joke.

So you might be asking yourself-- How exactly did he hustle me in pool if he's a bad player?

Well, he wouldn't stop playing mind games with me while it was my turn to shoot.

While I was slumped over the table getting ready to do my shot, he'd innocently take his stick and poke my butt with it. Other times he'd run it up my leg. This made me miss my shots horribly.

After I told him to not touch me, I couldn't help but look up at him before each shot. He'd wink or push his tongue against the inside of his cheek, insinuating a blowjob. Needless to say, this threw off my concentration and I barely lost the game and 20 bucks.

Hell, at least I got a blowjob out of the deal.

 

[mustynutz]

Ahh, another weekend gone by. You get together with your best friends and you hang out in a public environment in hopes you'll be drunk enough by the end of the night to talk to a member of the opposite sex.

What do you have to look forward to after highschool and college? Nothing, really. Your life is now dedicated to work. Work, work, work. The only thing that you have to look forward to is the weekend.

I usually get together with about 15 people and go shoot some pool down at the local pool hall. In my group, I'm usually the good looking guy that has the balls to approach the girls. Not this time. This weekend, I was the underdog.

Two new guys tagged along with us. One was a tall, fit guy with an English accent named Ariel. Most guys with the name Ariel would be made fun of. Not this guy. He looked like he just jumped out of an Abercrombie ad. This is the type of guy that could carry a purse and get away with it.

Now, if I carried a purse, I'd be humiliated. Not this guy. Other men would start carrying purses just to be like Ariel. In fact, he could come up with his own line of purses and every guy in the world would think it was cool.

I hate that fag.

The other guy was just sent back from Iraq. He happens to be in a wheel chair. More than likely because he doesn't have any legs, I haven't asked him. We'll call him Mike.

So, you're probably asking yourself what an English guy and a bouy could do to ruin my chance with the ladies.

Well, they weren't actually the only reason. You see, one member of our group is the infamous Diego. He can be read about here (http://www.ubersite.com/m/31784) and here (http://www.ubersite.com/m/32402). If you're too lazy to read those posts, I don't blame you.

Long story short, Diego was a nuisance when I worked with him in a restaurant more than a year ago. In fact, he coined the term "beeetch corndog". For months, when he greeted me, he'd say "Wassup hoto?" and I'd kindly respond. I just thought 'hoto' was a spanish term for friend. As it turns out, it's slang for homosexual.

I'd like to think I'm the normal guy of the group. Seeing as how we've got a trash-talking Mexican with bad english skills, a guy with no legs, and an Abercrombie Englishman, I have to be the normal one.

While we're playing pool, I'm whipping Diego's ass. He hasn't gotten one single ball in the hole, yet he still finds it appropriate to talk trash.

"Hey Joooostin. You sucka like-a your mama!"

"What did you just say?"

"Me mama sucks your ass!"

"You're not making any sense, Diego."

''I kick the suck out of you. You no good."

''You idiot. I'm kicking your ass in this game."

"Eeeeeees okay."

"What's okay?"

"Eeeees okay that I own tu mama!"

"My mom?"

"Si. Where is my peenie?"

"Your what?"

"Eees in your mama!!"

After taking my break from the pool game, I see three ladies by themselves at another table. At this point, I decided it'd be nice to invite them over. I started talking to the hottest one of the group and everything was going swell.

Until Mike the handicap wheeled his ass up.

Mike: "Hey you two, want a beer?"

Hot blonde that I'm taking home: "Oh my God! What happened to your legs?!"

Cockblocking Mike: "Oh, well, I was walking one day and they suddenly just fell off."

Hot blonde that I might not be taking home: "You silly, what really happened?"

Trying to be funny to get my girl Mike: "Well, you know. I took a Transformers class. Unfortunately, I dropped out early and only got to the wheelchair transforming stage. If only I had stayed three more weeks, I'd be a car."

Stupid bitch blonde: "Haha!"

I hated this guy with a passion. He already has the advantage on me for being the handicapped guy, but he HAS to up me one by being the funny guy. Great, now I'm just average Joe.

Even Diego was getting his game on. He found himself a girl that was just a dumb as him. In fact, her english skills were just as bad. Too bad it's the only language she speaks. I swear this was his opening line.

"Hola, beetch. Wanna beer?"

"Sure!"

"Yeeehaw mudda fooker!"

I don't think it'd work for me. Saying "Hey, bitch-- want a beer?" isn't exactly my idea of winning over the fairer sex. Apparently it works if you're Mexican.

Soon after, the whole group had deserted me. Diego alerted me that I needed to find my own ride home. He and handicapped Mike were taking their two ladies back to his place.

"Ehh, Joosteen. You find ride. I take beetch back home to ride my corndog."

"How the hell am I going to find a ride?"

"You ride corndog too if you want."

"No, I mean how am I getting home?

"Get a ride, beetch corndog."

So there I was, stuck in the pool hall with the buff, long haired blonde english guy named Ariel. I could look on the bright side, but there isn't one.

Hey! I'm stuck with the long blonde haired english guy named Ariel!!

Okay, maybe there is a bright side.

 

[mustynutz]

Growing up, I had my fair share of whippings. As the son of a military father, I tried my best not to screw up and get into trouble. Unfortunately, I wasn't immune from spankings.

It's not that I was trying to get in trouble. I was just a complete moron. At least once a week, I did something worthy of receiving an ass beating. I was on the receiving end of so many beatings that my dad actually kept a meter stick by his recliner. If that wasn't enough, he even painted it and named it the "Ass Master".

When I was 6, I made many bad decisions that resulted in a meeting with the Ass Master.

You know, if I hadn't explained it, that above sentence could have been mistaken for another meaning.

So, I was 6. It was Christmas day and I had just received the most awesome present a boy my age could ask for. A Jeep Power Wheel. A Power Wheel is basically a small battery powered car for little kids. I was having a ball, driving all around the yard and sidewalk in my kickass Jeep.

Please note: Running over your 3 year old sister in one of those things isn't as funny as it may seem.

Also note: Make sure your dad isn't watching when you decide to step on the gas and topple your sister over. Oh, and try not to let her body go under the small vehicle like I did. Don't worry, she was okay afterward.

I was sitting there laughing in my Jeep, when I'm suddenly grabbed by the arm and yanked out. My dad dragged me all the way into the house and tossed my vehicular endangerment ass into the chair. He reached beside the recliner and pulled out the meter-stick.

He stopped calling it the Ass Master after my mom yelled at him several times for the curse word in it. From that day forward, the meter stick was known as the "little guy".

After the beating, my dad always asks me what I've learned from the experience.

"So, what did you learn, Justin?"

"I learned not to hit my sister with my car and not to call her bad words."

"What? You called your sister a bad word?"

Shit.

"No."

"Turn back around. You know this hurts me more than it hurts you."

"Then let me give you a whooping with it."

WHAM!

Don't ever say that, by the way.

Fortunately for me, he was a military guy, which meant he'd disappear for months at a time because of TDY. During this time, my mother took over. Whenever she punished me, she never used anything but her hand. She didn't have the heart to fling an inanimate object at me with all her might.

The great thing about my mom's whippings is that they didn't hurt. Ever. I had to fake cry just to get her to stop. When she said "This hurts me more than it hurts you", I'd laugh under my breath-- because it actually did. She'd always ice her hand after every beating.

The Ass Master, now known as the "little guy", was getting more than its fair share of use. It was inevitable that it would soon break. When that day came, my dad taped it back together with black electrical tape. This made every whooping sting more. The name soon changed to Little Black Guy.

When I was 7, I did the stupidest thing ever. Something that would get me my most painful beating to date.

My family had just moved into a new neighborhood. To get to know the neighbors better, my parents had a huge barbecue and invited over the whole neighborhood. There were several dozen adults and even more kids in attendance. My toys still hadn't arrived on the moving truck, so I had to find other measures to entertain my new friends.

Movies. Of course.

Something I need to explain is this-- When my dad goes on TDY(Temporary Duty Yearly), he and my mom are separated for months at a time. Just like any adults, they apparently tried to spice up their long distance relationships. My dad would send videotapes back to let us know how he was doing. While we were watching, he'd give us the tour of the hotel, the tour of the military base he was visiting, etc. At the end of every video (for myself and my sister anyway), he'd say:

"Okay mom, get the kids out of the room. The rest is for you."

It's obvious what he would do on these videos after my mom escorted us from the room and locked the door behind us, but at 7 years old, I had no clue.

Back to the barbecue. I went upstairs and searched through all the boxes for any video I could find. The only thing set-up in the house was the TV and VCR, so we had nothing to do BUT watch a video. I finally found one, assuming it was an old home video and ran back downstairs to the awaiting children.

"Found one, you guys!"

About 2 dozen kids crowded around on the floor as I popped the tape into the VCR. It was my dad and he was giving a tour of the hotel on one of his recent TDYs.

"...And this is the shower. I think we know what happens here. Mom, send the kids out of the room."

Oooh, something I can't see. I knew I should have stopped the tape, but I wanted to know what it was that I could never see. So did all the kids.

Daddy-O takes off his clothes and jumps in the shower, leaving the curtain open. At this point, I struggled to get up and stop the tape. It's obvious nothing good can come out of a naked man filming himself in the shower, especially if that man is your dad.

I couldn't reach the tape in time. My dad entered the front doorway with several friends. When he realized what we were all watching, he ravaged through the group of sitting kids, pushing several out of the way and stepping on a few. After he stopped the tape, he turned and looked at me with the look of embarassment and anger on his face.

"Justin!! You just made the biggest mistake of your life! I'm going to get my little black guy on your ass!"

Several of the adults looked at each other, wondering why he'd threaten his 7 year old son with violence from a negro.

We didn't have many barbecues after that.

 

[mustynutz]

Our lead singer, Dan, was a Drew Carey doppelganger who therefore considered himself quite the ladies' man. Since most shows we played usually featured an audience smaller than the band itself, the prospect of any of us getting together with a groupie was rather small.

But not this fateful night.

Through a random act of the music gods, we found ourselves at the 930 club, opening for Save Ferris and Goldfinger. It was a great show, and we rocked as hard as a band with five brass instruments can rock.

After the show we were standing by the bar, tossing back a few choice beverages. I love me some Tab.

Dan was trying to look tough, carefully sipping his amaretto sour and coughing on a marlboro ultra-light, when a delicate, manicured hand appeared over his shoulder and stroked his ear seductively.

He turned, revealing the hand, attached to a long shapely arm, which was in turn attached to a long shapely young woman who appeareed to possess that most sought-after attribute of ska groupies. Legal age.

"Hi, I'm Veronica!" she said, her hispanic accent turning the V into a B. "You guys played a great set!"

<yadda yadda yadda>

The next morning, most of us are laid out in Dan's living room, still slumbering from the night before. Dan's upstairs in his bedroom with Beronica from the night before.

At about eight in the morning, Dan stumbled down the stairs as I came out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee. His forehead was beaded with sweat and his face was the color of mashed turnips.

He seized me by the arms and I barely managed to avoid spilling coffee everywhere.

"Jack, you gotta help me man!" he said through gritted teeth.

"What's up, Dan-o?"

"Dude, my frickin pee-hole is on fire!"

I backed away slowly, not making eye contact.

"Jack, seriously, man! You gotta get me to the hospital or something. I tried to piss this morning and I can't, and my frickin dick is like a holocaust!"

Dan is the only jewish guy I know who refers to everything bad in the world as a holocaust. But I can see he's in pain, so I woke up Big Eric and we drove him to the ER in Eric's Saturn station wagon. What? That's how you roll when you skank, bitch.

We spent long hours with nothing for entertainment but bleeding crackheads and unwed mothers giving birth on the floow of the waiting room.

Finally Dan emerged, pale and shaken. We got in the car without a word and headed home. It was months before we got the story out of him.

Turns out our feisty latina Beronica liked to make the love in a very uncomfortable place which does not happen to be the walk-in coat closet in your Gramma Mabel's nursing home. No, she liked it in the bad place. It was a VERY bad place for our Daniel.

When the doctors finally swabbed Dan out (collective wince from the men-folk), they removed the source of Dan's travails.

A jalapeno seed.

Two months later I quit the ska band and joined the Army. I think life turned out a little safer for me that way.

 

[OG young SAV]

Hell yeah...Time Killaz are back.......BEST SHIT ON THE SICCNESS!!!

Thanks Must

 

[mustynutz]

http://www.patentlysilly.com/

 

[OG young SAV]

Good lookin...Is this where you get all the Time Killa stories? If, so I'll probably be changing my toner next week HA HA