* Many people asked me when I get back from current events to reduce the price by a long-standing hatred against triad Uri Geller and the second season of his mentalist-castings. And of course I've played with this idea. The posts from last year to write uncommonly great fun. After I but yesterday the Viewed second episode of the current season have, I have to take this project back spacing. Why? Because I follow Notwithstanding any other opinions on a certain code of honor and not to unnecessarily entering victim lying on the ground. And if that oppressed their gaping wounds of shame even have added myself, I sometimes put my extra small hammer drill back and look at them with her drill secretly under any abdominal wall for oil.
This pink frog could not linger with his supplication of my endless search of black gold.
What has the program done to himself for now, you ask?
Quite simply, a ratio of 3 to 5: there were five performances, and there were three of them deep in the pants when I look at myself in reflective surfaces. Or my girlfriend at wrestling matches with the Undertaker.
to believe: This effeminate steroids-Emo I have to compete for the affections of my girlfriend.
Where was I? Right, in yesterday's show, which I so wanted to write anything. Just this: The much-abused term "foreign Shame" was raised in particular the presence of female Mentalistin to a whole new level. Or rather said after Performance: A man who looks like me and (not only because of this) the only sympathetic representative of the human species in the aforementioned scene is from the co-host Zicky McZickenzitz falsely accused, the suicidal stunt to have an allegedly dirty 26 year old magician from Melmac. And millions of viewers sitting in front of the TV and slipped embarrassed about in the Jacuzzi. (What? Jacuzzi did not you? Rather like Hartz-4-fart in the tub, or what?)
little far-fetched, you say? The reason is that their ears are hidden by the tuft of straw. And anyway, when I'm Jada Pinkett-Smith compared to a pulp, has also complained no one. Not even Mrs. Smith himself, which proves that I seem to take out everything, with no one could ever be angry with me. So to cover her hair toupee carrier bag.
Or what was that with the indigenous shamans-trick? The chief of the tribe was still more than the Krummschniedel. Or what I want this only slightly phallic charged Photo say?
Not impressed by your stripper Tomahawk, Chief Who-Dances-with-fags.
* I guess people like krustyDC now so much that I did without shame call the "many" people. You see, I'm so fond of him, the crazy clown. Perhaps I speak of him but also in the plural because I have recently visited him in the psychiatry and within a few minutes with him, Napoleon had spoken Scotty Pippen and a barrel full of abgekauerter toenails.
0 comments:
Post a Comment