9622.net

**mixes up some hurricanes**
**begins work on Thundersluts Gone Wild**

Good work making those beads look like a monkey face. eep eep.

True Mardi Gras story; I once got kicked out of a bar called "The Game Cock" in New Orleans (it was raining, ye speculators!) for pretending to lick my rather homophobic friend's ear and having him, in return, upend my barstool with a roar (with me on it) and sending me careening across the floor.

I did, however, retain the wherewithal to tack a fraternity brother of mine's business card on the mysterious little bulletin board near the door before being ejected into the street.

Show us your tits, indeed. Any other True Tales of Mardi Gras Hijinx?

I once hit on a New Orleans prostitute, without realizing she was one. Her pimp let me know pretty quick.

Another time in New Orleans, I threw up. How's THAT for hijinx?

Show us your tits, indeed. Any other True Tales of Mardi Gras Hijinx?

Waaaait a minute. You mean tits for beads is only a Mardi Gras day thing? Shit.

You want Mardi Gras stories? Oh, I got Mardi Gras stories, baby.

For instance, just yesterday...

That's right. I chose booze over boobs. I was just happy to find out later that the anthropomorphic bourbon bottle actually existed and wasn't just a product of my pickled brain.

That bottle looks kinda flummoxed, Chef.
Where's your other hand?

I'm pretty sure Chef just guaranteed himself a part in any future Cannonball Run movies.

And that is one kickin' lid, CC.

SoCo is not bourbon, CC. Gawd, and you call yourself a drinker...

Sorry. I usually stay away from the dark stuff. I prefer lighter fare.

Like Vodker:

No Mardi Gras stories myself, but here's one for you:

My boyfriend's band played out this weekend and their sax player, who's all of 24 or something, thought he'd get into the Mardi Gras spirit and bring some beads along. So he's walking through the crowd before the show, going up to women and saying "Here, have some beads." The bass player stops him and says, "You're not supposed to just give the beads away." Sax player thinks about it for a minute, walks up to the next woman and says, "Here, have some beads. Now give me $5."

Kids. They're so cute when they're innocent like that.

Hello all,
To be honest I'm primed and ready to go for more Mardi Gras. I just came back from lunch at the closes place you could find in Dallas that reeks of real Creole, Nate's restaurant. The thing that sucks my bosses stayed...it started at 10:30pm and the first thing the waiter said was, what two beers would you like, so I'm on my way already to feeling it...

CC, I couldn't help but notice you got an awful lot of beads there, pal.

Making no value judgements, but -- nice work, pal.

I can't see pretty chef pictures! SO sad.

Um... I still don't see any tits...

( . )( . )

Good god, man! Look at what you made me do! I've sworn that I would never make emoticons--especially the dread "tits" emoticon--and I've gone and done it.

*hangs head in shame*

[thom looks at bead collection; finds, aimes, throws, loops around readymade's hanging head of shame, pours shot into shot cup dangling from the end of her beads]

Boobies Boobies Boobies. Had to say it.

Equal opportunity oogles, my dear jpolous. When are we going to see some trou dropping for beads?

I'll be attending this pub crawl tonight. So tomorrow morning when I'm all hungover and cranky, I'll be expecting some dancing and love to cheer me up. Have a good one all!

I have to say that although I've seen a ~goodly sum of penises in my life~, I was completely unprepared for the sheer number that were waved at me or in my immediate presence at Mardi Gras. And we're not talking goodlooking phalli either. These were the male equivalent of the gerontic titties at Sturgis.

I was shocked and a little bit traumatized, truth be told.

When are we going to see some trou dropping for beads?

I'm saving myself for marriage.

Put away those emoticons, folks. Think of the adults.

Adults? Where? Shit!

*clumsily stuffs emoticons back in shirt*

Here ya go guys...mardi gras boobs. Not good boobs mind you...and not *my* boobs...but mardi gras boobs, none the less. ;)

yay boobs!

It's mardi gras. I'm sitting in my chair. I have a can of beer nuts and a beer. I've seen no tits today. As we drove home tonight the streets were deserted.

I hate suburbia. I hate that I'm from there. Why people like it, I don't know. The city is full of people who are from the city and either lov it, love/hate it, or hate it and want to move here. Or their people from small towns who want to come to the big cities. Or wild ass rich kids from wherever living it up. But I ain't a member of any of those fuckin' clubs, so there ya go. Hell, maybe I should just get with the fuckin' program, buy an SUV, go to college, work in some office park, get a mortgage on a fucking McMansion, right? I must be nuts for not wanting all that right?

Don't mind me, I'm just surrounded by so many "nice" mashed potato people that I'd like to starngle half the time.

Aargh. Where's my fuckin' meds.

Dude : travel! It's the cure to all existential malaises, or if not the cure, at least a mighty enjoyable placebo. There are some wacky-ass foods (and beers) out there, too, so you don't have to give up your hobbies!

Yes! (error cleanup)

*looks up, confused, with moutfull of colorful pills*

wow. you guys said a moutful.

0h, and I can't see the MardiColdPartyChefBoobiesGras pictures, either.

Dammit.

hey, it's hard to spel wen u hav swallawed a heep uf zoloft.

Spelling is hard.

Debauchery. Hey, there are worse hobbies.

Apparently, I've reached my daily limit on free photo views. You might check this thread tomorrow.

Oh, and be sure to check out the photo of the penis between my wife's boobs. (sorry...apparently this photo won't load until tomorrow either)

fuck me, it's 1 in the morning, i'm back from the pub crawl (and then some). Alarm will suck. Please pray that I get to work before 9:30. Thank you all. Keep me in your thoughts, and please dance for me in the morn....

Howdy all...a fine Ides of March to ya...

Thanks, stav for the article, more excuses for me to be drbunk. Honestly I can relate to the article, yet, nor have I enjoyed the results of it.

PS, I have no idea what I just linked, yet it's sure to make a monkey laugh/dance instead stabbing oneself 12 times listening to Julius Caecar, in latin.

I'm pretty sure the Ides of March aren't until March 15.

whoops, why did I think the 5th...now to go brush up on my latin since 8th grade, damn pod buddies.

Can you folks see the pics now?

Yes, and you look almost exactly like one of my best friends in Sydney, Australia. Got a lost branch of the family down there, by any chance?

There are Chefbabies scatterred throughout the Southern Hemisphere. Like seeds on the wind. Or something.

Can you folks see the pics now?

Yes I saw them even after it was posted you couldn't, ???, maybe I just was lucky.

Let me tell you about it CC, they looked marvelous...the boobs that is.

Go Stars...see ya' all.

I'm still getting little red x's where pictures should be. Perhaps our monkey bandwidth is just too much. ;)

Here are your 9622 Mardi Gras boobies. (NSFW)

http://in.news.yahoo.com/030303/137/21qch.html

You forgot to hit the "resize" button, migs.

Also, the "woman" knobs and switches shouldn't be labeled.

heh.

The "resize" button was on the woman's side, anathema, and I was frightened.

How about another tired gender joke, like how women move into your apartment and immediately clutter it with all sorts of shit?

Okay, okay. I admit it. That's MY collection of crystal unicorns. But don't they catch the light in a magical way?

How about another tired gender joke, like how women move into your apartment and immediately clutter it with all sorts of shit?

Heh! That is soooo true!

There's this hilarious one act play called For Whom the Southern Bell Tolls (by Christopher Durang) which is a parody of The Glass Menagerie. The main character, Lawrence, collects glass swizzle sticks. "And this one I called blue, because it's blue."

Men like beer and football.

And women, they love to shop.

Yeah, that's so true! I love shopping! I could shop all day!

And men don't ask for directions! Ha, ha, ha!

Women can't do math. And men scratch themselves and fart all day.

Women are evil, vindictive hags who only marry for money and will cut off your penis when you fall asleep.

Men like beer and football.

Women don't fart.

You know what I don't get? The men-will-fuck-their-buddies-over-for-a-Bud-Light thing. Remember the commercials where the guy hires a bouncer to protect his six-pack from his roommate? or digs a spike-laden trench around the fridge? or pisses in the last bottle, so he doesn't have to share?

what's up with that? do they not realize that they sell 'em on the corner for $3.99? no need to threaten your friends for them.

Childbirth hurts less than a kick in the nuts.

What's a woman?

Yeah, and women don't make you strip naked and sleep in the crawlspace every night for a year until its clear that you have been bent to their dark and inimitable will.

And then, the bear suit.

I can't even talk about the bear su--

I can't even say it.

I can't do math, but that's because it bored me to tears when I was a kid, and never tried. I don't primp, don't shop professionally, I'm a pretty decent slobs, and while I do have a fondness for tchotchkes and knick-knacks I think we can all agree that monkey paraphernalia, of which I have a great deal, is above reproach. I own nothing pink, I have no doilies, and I find shows like "The Bachelor" and "Joe Millionaire" ten tons of painful for reinforcing the notion that women are a bunch of air-headed fools who just want to find Mr. Right and have no personal interests beyond finding a MAN.

Even though that's how I met my husband. But we don't talk about that.

A MAY-AN!</Miss Prissy>

what are we talking about again?

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