Salutations, traveler of The Internets! Welcome to William's Bloody Hell, so named after our founder, Sir Bloody William.
He is seen in the likeness above in a rare, 19th century woodcut. This
image was rumoured to have been
commissioned after a bout of unpleasantness
in the White Chapel district of London. Do enjoy your stay and peruse our many, varied offerings, much of which cannot be found elsewhere!
::Today's soundtrack: Men at Work "Overkill" ::
With the rat race of the winter holidays upon us, I'm finding I'm short on time for good updates around here. But, I ain't no slacker so I figure, you know what's always good for a laugh? Checking out the grotesque and suggestive horrors of the deep, dark SPAM FOLDER OF DOOM! Be forewarned of the raunchy, dirty, and naughty sex talk that lies ahead!
Let's start with the odd:
Um, I don't know about you, but I found this to be a really weird way to solicit something. Also, Pat Harris, don't tell me what to do, okay?
Making her.... what? Cookies? Paint my house? For the love of mike, what?? The suspense is killing me!
Yes. Maybe? I don't know! Do we need some? Need some what? Why are you asking me? Why am I waiting for an answer?
Now onto the frightening:
Good. Let's keep that way, creepy internet weirdo.
Wait... what?? How do you know where I live? Where are those security cameras I ordered?
You're looking at me? You can see me? How fast can I board up my windows??
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!
NOW I certainly do!! Somebody's watching me!
SOLD!!
Here are some that blow my mind:
Waitaminnit... that's me.... that's my e-mail addresss... I'm somehow e-mailing myself? And using the subject "hello, buddy"? Is this from a parallel universe?
Uh oh.... I think I understand now! I'm e-mailing myself... from the FUTURE! With a dire warning of some sort! I bet I have to protect Sarah Conner or something! Holy shit!!
Preventing the rise of the machines sure is urgent! Don't worry, Future Me, I'm on it!
And finally, the somewhat sexy:
Look, if I got much bigger, I wouldn't be able to fit through a doorway, okay?
Um... eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew!
Yeah, haven't you heard? We're all using sticks which have been sharpened to a point on one end! Get with the times, man.
What? Does what hang? Maybe... it depends what we're talking about.
I used to have "it." Then they changed what "it" was. Now "it" scares me.
Which organ? Is it my brain? *wink wink*
How many octaves do you think one can play on the longest organ in town?
Okay, seriously, if these organ obsessed people are indeed talking about someone's "man parts".... larger than my arm??? Really? That, um, actually sounds scary right there. You don't want to know what sort of horrendous visuals that induces.
Incase you can't read that... "Large and wide pole available for immediate gratification." Yeah, just call 555-1234 and ask for Roosevelt.
And then what? Build a really little fence? Club somebody over the head with it?
So, then why does Jaclyn want me to stop at 12 inches? Oh, wait you're a bunch of man-junk obsessed perverts, too, aren't you? Maybe these "pole" people should get together with the "organ" people and throw a party. Oh, wow, could you imagine? It'd just be one giant sweaty, naked man-pile with their "arm length" schlongs waving around all over the place and.... *shudder*.... somewhere Clive Barker just blew a load in his pants and doesn't know why.
And on that delightful note, I shall bid thee adieu. Happy holidays to everyone and try not to think about the horrible graphic imagery discussed here during your holiday dinner feast. I only think that it will be difficult to explain to grandma why you're giggling so much is all. Unless you want to. I dunno, your grandma might be into that for all I know.
William the Bloody (revealer of fine spam the world over)
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