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Sturgeon's House

Tied

Excommunicated
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Posts posted by Tied

  1. nKAUBWx.jpg

    The McDonald's strawberry shake walks in the front door of my mouth bringing good tidings and doses of nostalgia. It reminds me of a better time, of a greasier time. The flavor rools over my tongue like the Nevada winds, i see flashes of me building Abrams models in new housing projects out there in that beautiful red desert baked in the blue skies. Compared to the McDonald's chocolate shake which is riddled with what i can only describe as small and isolated bits of freezer burn as plentiful as it is sinister; its imperfections are masked by real bits of strawberry and the Sryup flavoring they went with. Its strong but not overzealous, it lets the milk and cream work on its own, but it reminds them of who's calling the shots.

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    The Fries need no introduction, the tried and true gold brown warriors that guard the flavortown gates have left a lasting impression in all of us. But for every bit of flavorful virtue in the fries lies a strong undertone of sin, of decay. A cancer that eats away at the texture and taste like a swarm of locusts. And this cancer is father time. This particular strain struck deep into the very soul of the fries today, in that we needed to take a detour so someone could pick up a vegetable sandwich. For the purposes of this Majurana induced review they shall rename anonymous, and yes, they were female. When i unwrapped my golden bounty of potatoes i was left in a foaming pool of betrayal at the lack of salt. Had it melted into the Grease? Had they been properly salted? I was able to make it through the large fries since there was obviously some salt, but the greasy paste forming in my mouth as a chewed down another several was just that, a greasy paste. The life and the love had left on a cold day from these fries, and go to its flight before you could make that last desperate phone call. 

     

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    Everytime i return to the warm shores of Mcdonalds, the bountiful fish of Filet O Fish hope aboard my nuclear submarine bound for standoff range to flavortown. Tartar Sauce, American cheese, two buns toasted somewhat, and a fish filet. For everything wonderful in life is simple and the elegance of the no nonsense recipe is not lost on me. But all the maxims on uncomplicated fast food inventions aside, there is no substitute for flavor. And you dont need to make that phone call for the substitute, because the professor always shows up to the school on time. Even if his hair is a little frizzled and his dick is still wet from the undergrad student he banged for her to pass, he is still there and thats all that counts. The tender filet breaks apart on your tongue like your doubts on a bottle of fine liquor. The sauce shows up to cool the mood after the cheese makes some edgy although very funny insults. And the bread lets you into the flavortown club while slipping some cheap ecstasy in your drink. Its tough and greasy like sort of a jerky made out bread. But its still good for mcdonalds, and whatever batter they fried the fish fits buetifuly like a nice woman into a suit. Its salty makeup is on and her lipstick glows like the sun through the window of your bedroom so left in a hurry. In sort, its a reliable and dependable sandwhich, flaky sure, but much like the aftermentioned woman, she is there at any time of the day- or night, and her classy subtle beauty is timeless. 

  2. Dude, flip your propaganda switch to the off position to a second and re-assess. I'm South African. Nearly every adult male I know hunts - either every once in a while or regularly. My country makes a goodly chunk of its money from farming and hunting, and I was trained by ecologists who advocate for commercial hunting as a means of preserving wildlife. So don't put words in my mouth regarding the ethics and utility of hunting (which is to say: fuck off).

    My problem with the specific scenario we're describing is that damn near all of the hunters I know would be aghast at it. It is unethical, because it wounds rather than kills. It is indiscriminate. It is unsporting. To these people (again, a large number of persons in my acquaintance) what you're describing would be viewed in the same light as a catholic priest detailing how he got into the business to diddle kids.

    Even viewed as animal control it is inefficient, crude and inexact. And, again, would be viewed as unethical for all the reasons described above. Far better here to deploy traps, poison (carefully), biocontrol or damn near anything other than blazing away from the animals on high with weapons of insufficient killing power.

    So, in short: get the fuck off your high horse about this, and stop pretending that I'm arguing with you because I don't understand the fundamental issues or something. This thing is retarded, and no regard for the need to control wildlife or secure farming livelyhoods is going to serve as a fig leaf for such stupidity and cruelty.

    Toxn your a fag. Pigs are dicks. And guns are fun

  3. Oh dear god the 6.8 wankery in that video.

    You know someone's super rich when they're rolling around with night vision and 6.8 SPC rifles.

     

    Also, "85% of the power of a .308" my ass.

     

    i wouldnt mind the 85% number if he was shooting at like wild flocks of cinder blocks, hey that ryhmes, and not you know, living things that you just might want a efficent wound pattern round and arent like to be engaging at super dooper long range 

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