9622.net

I know, I know, "Meatfilter"!

What, No Gravy?

I'm just trying not to make a porn joke right now.

...nearby residents William "Butcherblock" Johnston, Earl "Trebuchet" Schmidt and Karl "Katapult" Koenig announced they were "flummoxed" by the entire incident. "Mother Nature is a MAD scientist!" observed Schmidt. Added Johnston: "I think this is just one of those mysteries of science and meteorology that happens sometimes on boring, pleasant weekends, the kind when friends get together and, say, have a few drinks and tinker around in the garage or, you know, the abbatoir. Weird, man."

As an aside: What a great name for a town: Where you from, hoss? Flesh Falls, Wisconsin! Where you go to school? Flesh Falls Community College, o'course! Home of the Flesh Falls Fryers!

*sings*

Humidity's rising
Barometer's getting low
According to all sources
The street's the place to go

'Cos tonight for the first time
At just about half past ten
For the first time in history
It's gonna start raining men

It's raining men
Hallelujah it's raining men, Amen
It's raining men
Hallelujah it's raining men, Amen

Odd fact, Paul Schaffer is given writing credit on this song. Hmmmm....

I can't stand the rain
against my window
bringing back sweet Ike to me
I can't stand the rain
against my window
he's fallen to pieces on me

Hey window pane,
do you remember
how sweet he used to be.
When he was together
everything was so grand.
Now that he's is pieces,
there's a one sound
that I just can't stand

I can't stand the rain...

Tina Turner's wish fulfullment song about Ike, I imagine.

I think Elvis said it best:

Kentucky meat keeps pouring down
And up ahead's another town
That I'll go walking thru
With the gravy in my shoes,
Bastin' for you
In the red Kentucky meat,
In the red Kentucky meat...

Nothing lasts forever
Even cold November meat.

jon,

I fall to pieces
whenever you call my name.

You make the gravy
I'll bring the open flame.

Kaf, almost spit out the hot cocoa.

When it's a meaty night in Georgia, feels like it meaty all over the world...

I count the falling meat
It falls before my eyes
Seems like a tasty treat
But unidentified
I called you on the phone
You said "It's yummy fried."
So sit there all alone
It's time you realized

It's not your meat
(Nobody's meat nobody's meat)
Not your meat
(Nobody's meat, nobody's meat)
Not yours, no noike a tasty treat
But should I even try?

Winter is here again oh Lord,
Haven't been home in a year or more
I hope she holds on a little longer

Sent a letter on a long summer day
Made of liver, not of clay
I've been runnin' down this dusty road

Meat in the sky keeps on turnin'
I don't know where I'll be tomorrow
Meat in the sky keeps on turnin'

WTF?

Sorry, that was directed toward the server, not ufez. there was a small snafu at the end of my lyrics.

Sorry, that was directed toward the server, not ufez.

Good thing, I'd hate to have to send a gang of Steve Perry impersonators to your door.

"flesh from one inch to two inches wide and from an inch to three inches long and half to three-fourths of an inch in thickness," Where's the meat bones?

There are no Meat Shower monuments in Bath County

Yes, because they like their meat in the tub...3 Men in a Tub (Rub a DubDub)

I'm just trying not to make a porn joke right now.

My last comment after reading it, Cyrano, see what you mean. My thinking was one of the 3 men in a tub, the child’s toy, was a butcher...

Night falls on the city
Finds me all alone
Makes me wonder
Should I just go on home

And I walk up the stairs
To see if you're sill there
Would you mind if
I found you alone

Then a cold wind came callin'
Strange how it knew it'd bother me
See the night would fade
But the pain's gonna stay
Makes me wonder
Have you ever made love to me

I can't stop the meat, here it comes again
Flesh from one inch to two inches wide and from an inch to three inches long and half to three-fourths of an inch in thickness, strikes across the sky
Oh, I can't stop the meat, here it comes again
Flying frog spawn only blinds my eyes.

Talk to me..like butchers do
cut the meat...like butchers do...
Get Your thumb off that scale...

Here comes the meat again
Falling on my head like lagniappe
Tearing me apart like a new entree..

lambchops keep fallin' on my head, fallin' on my head...

lambchops keep fallin' on my head,
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!

I'm singin' in the meat
Just singin' in the meat
What a glorious fi-let
I'm happy to eat.
I'm laughing at ribs.
So red, up above ,
Beef's 'tween my lips
And I'm ready for love.

Meat the Beatles.

And Beat the Meatless.

At least now we know where Arby's gets its ingredients for its new Homestyle Pot Roast Sandwich. (Hey, and did'ja notice Tom Arnold is the voice of Arby's new mascot, "Oven Mitt"? Sheesh.)

Tom Arnold? Sheesh. Reason #418,037 not to eat there.

I worked at an Arby's once. Trust me, there are 418,036 other reasons.

(And, for the record, when various varieties of processed meats are thrown up against the wall...roast beef stays up there the longest.)

Well that settles a bet we had going round here. The receptionist at the office is a bit of a ham enthusiast, and now she owes me ten bucks!

Thanks, Cyrano!

When I read that Willie Nelson turned 70 today, I was shocked. I thought he passed 70 years ago.

Funny how 70 no longer seems shockingly old. Well, sorta funny.

Actually, not funny.

One of the best filthy(and I mean really filthy) jokes I know involves Willie Nelson.

Spit it out.

*sits on curb, lights cigarette, waits for joke*

Ok, but dont say I didn't warn you...

This woman was such a fan of the Beatles that she decided to have a
tattoo of John Lennon put on the inside of her left thigh, and a
tattoo of Paul McCartney tattoo on the inside of her right side.

After the tattoo artist was finished, he wrapped her thighs in
bandages since they were quite sore and had to heal. He admonished
her to keep the bandages on for a week, and then she could take them
off. He guaranteed her that she would be very pleased with his work.

A week went by and she finally uncovered the tattoos. She was
horrified at the work and thought that neither of the tattoos looked
like John Lennon or Paul McCartney. She went back to the tattoo
parlor to complain.

She was giving the artist a "what for" and she couldn't be calmed
down. Finally, the tattoo artist said, "Wait lady. Don't take my
word for it, let's get the opinion of an unbiased 3rd party".

She agreed to do just that.

Just then a drunk came stumbling down the street and was passing
the tattoo parlor door. The artist grabbed him and brought him
inside the shop, showed him the tattoo on the lady's left thigh and
asked if it looked like John Lennon.

The drunk shrugged and said, "I don't know."

The artist asked him if he thought the tattoo on the inside of the
lady's right thigh looked like Paul McCartney.

The drunk again replied "I don't know, but the guy in the middle
with the beard and the bad breath MUST be Willie Nelson!!!"

Is it the one about Willie Nelson?

That joke is like a time capsule. When I first heard it I think tattoos were Robert Redford and Warren Beatty.

Yep. Although it just won't be as funny in 5 years when it gets told with Ben Affleck & Matt Damon.

I think I am really starting to hate my job.

I prefer the Yakov Smirnoff variation.

*That* is a really filthy joke?

Now I know I'm going to hell. Whee!

I don't get it - could someone please explain?

kidding!

Oops. Not that I'm disparaging your joke, Jon. It's one of my favorites.

*looks at adam*
*runs*

Oh, I know dirtier ones, kimmy. Just not one's involving Willie Nelson.

Although Willie has been one of my favorite singers since I was like 9, which is odd for a northeasterner. So happy birthday, willie.

Whiskey River take my mind,
Don't let her mem'ry torture me.
Whiskey River don't run dry,
You're all I've got, take care of me.

I think I am really starting to hate my job.

Adam, I suggest you improve your job through telekinesis. Imagine having the mouse leap up off the desk and *thwap* the customer on the ear while they are haggling over price. Little would they know that it was your amazing psychic powers!

I was going to suggest lighting fires and masturbating, but Tizzie's idea really is much better.

Willie and I have a common bond: We both went to Baylor. So he only lasted a semester and a half, that's not important. That bastion of baptist bullshit needs as many good things about it as it can get.

No, wait. He could do both. You know, Better Telekenesis Through Masturbation? (Especially if he uses the "Yakov Smirnoff variation.")

If that doesn't work, there's always the honey-&-fire-ants gambit. Especially if the carpet is easy to clean.

(Hang tight, Adam, brother.)

That bastion of baptist bullshit needs as many good things about it as it can get.

A friend of mine owns a tanning salon right across the street from Baylor. From what I hear, it's a pretty good place to go for good things, if you get my drift (although, there are a disturbing amount of stories involving bodily waste and tanning beds. I mean, WT-high-holy-F is up with that?!? Oh! And the Bush Twins tanned there once! Apparently, they use fake ID's and the Secret Service really is quite intimidating.)

If masturbation improved one's telekinetic abilities, I'd be raising Atlantis by now.

Unless someone else beat you to it.

(Ha! I kill me!)

I think we've finally gotten our Celebrity Cameo here on 9622!

That bastion of baptist bullshit needs as many good things about it as it can get.

Baylor is a baptist thumping school?

Speaking of meat (which we weren't, but what the hey) - that picture of a pastrami sandwich at The Carnegie Deli that is in the New York Times today is just obscene. It looks so good that I wanna lick my monitor.

Baylor is a baptist thumping school?

Oh dear, where to start. Between the people that felt led by Jesus to come pray for me (90% of the time I happened to be smoking) and the professors that would lead the class in prayer before tests and the absolute unacknowledgement by the administration that yes, some students do enjoy drinking, and the two semesters of mandatory chapel, well, let's just say they like to wear their piousness on their sleeves.

Tizzie:

The Carnegie is for the tourists. Katz's is way better and they do mail order. Take it from me.

WooHOO, jon, I've just been assigned a corned-beef sandwich show-down for my little freelance gig, and one of the sandwiches will be brought in from the Carnegie. I can take your word to the mat!

Domestic vs. big-city, I decide!

Tell 'em to switch to Katz's. Trust me.

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