WORLD TRANSLATOR

Showing posts with label fist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fist. Show all posts

Friday, November 4, 2011

THE HIGHEST FIVE


I used to hate high fiving people but lately I’ve seen a resurgence of this multi use practice and I want back on the band wagon.  I say “multi-use” because if you think about it, high fiving is so versatile.  You can use it as a greeting, a congratulations, a celebratory action, a way to make a fool of someone as in “high five, down low, too slow”,  and even as a hip performance as in high fiving in the front as you walk by someone and then following with a reverse low five just as you pass.  The most awesome thing about high fives is that you don’t even need a cooperative or even aware partner for a high five.  I was at the trial for a murderer, as a witness, last month.  When he stood up and the bailiff told him to raise his right hand to swear his oath I leapt over the table towards him.  I managed to steal a free high five on his raised right hand before the bailiff pepper sprayed and beat me unconscious with his baton.  The verdict on court room oath high fives?  Totally worth it!  As if that wasn’t awesome enough I went to a neo Nazi rally I heard about on AryanNations.org.  I was drunk with ecstasy when everyone “Heiled Hitler”.  Let’s just say that when I woke up in the hospital a week later the only thing that hurt more than my broken jaw and crushed testicle, was the bruise on my hand from all those involuntary high fives I stole!  I can’t, however, say the same for the Black Panthers rally that I went to because you can’t high five a raised fist.  So, I didn’t get any high fives there, but I did, however, get my first gunshot wound in my left ass cheek, so that’s pretty cool.  I’ve been going crazy lately.  I’ve been slapping fives at auctions when they raise their hands; whacking the shit out of those little smarty nerds in elementary school classes that know the answers; getting some mid range fives from dirty bums with their hands out for change; people hailing cabs, and sailor’s wives on the pier as their husband’s ships sail away on deployment.  In fact, I’ve high fived so many times in the last month that I’ve developed quite the callus on my palm.  So much so that I could give a hand job to a running chainsaw and probably not feel it.  Despite the rough hands I plan on continuing in my palm punishing quest.  The more high fives I give, the more it catches on and therefore the more high fives I get.  It’s a perpetual motion machine of high fives and I’m right in the middle of it.

Monday, July 25, 2011

SHOTGUN FARTS


SHIT! I’ll tell you what; I bought a whole shitload of fresh roasted garlic with olive oil on it, like 3 fist full's worth, at the supermarket yesterday.  I ate them ALL.  They were so fuckin’ good.  This morning and pretty much all day today I have had a school that requires a fair amount of concentration and finite hand coordination (you have a dirty ass mind, shut up).  The gas produced by the quarter pound of roasted garlic built up in my system so quick and smelled so bad that I had to rush to the bathroom every half hour.  I couldn’t concentrate the pressure pains were too much.  Each time I ran to the toilet and hurriedly sat down, my ass cheeks were splayed open by the curvature of the seat cover’s design, and my sphincter didn’t even have a chance to flutter..BAM!! Like a shotgun!! (not even close to an exaggeration) the 75psi worth of gas in my bowels ejaculated out of my ass! (and yes that is an appropriate way to use that word, see you learned something today.. it’s not just for nut bustin’)  How did I know it was the roasted garlic and olive oil that caused this half hourly turmoil?  I could clearly see, just as you would corn, the WHOLE garlic cloves just as they went into my mouth but coming out the other end with such velocity as to chip the enamel of the porcelain toilet.  Hell, I probably could have pulled them out of the toilet and ate them again they looked so similar to how they were just yesterday going into my mouth.  I was actually concerned that someone might think I was making a snuff film in one of the stalls because it didn’t sound like I was farting/sharting  AT ALL.  The fart was quick and explosive and the sound (yes the sound) of the garlic cloves ricocheting off of the toilet bowl walls was so similar to a Mossberg 500 that if anyone was within ear shot I might be in jail right now. 

Side note:  Another way of using ejactulate is:  He couldn’t take the child’s constant whining and bickering anymore and finally ejaculated, “Shut the fuck up or I’ll kick the fuck out of you!”  (if you read old books, as I like to, you hear it used in this way a lot, still sounds weird though.)


Another note:  I could have put Blade to shame today with the amount of vampires that would have gotten fucked up being anywhere near me.