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tis a phat fuck off turbo that is under the hood of a fuck off supra
how much boost you running on the phat fuck off turbo
yeah nah cunt about 16
argh man thats a phat fuck off turbo
A simple, yet effective saying meaning to leave.
John:Man, I am well stoned
Dave:Yeah me too man, i think we should TJB it!
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where guitar.com "miscers" battle it out for colin powell's pie
YGH vs. Colin Powell
YoungGrasshopper has never been in St. Louis, Missouri before. He waddles contentedly down a quaint sidestreet of the industrial sprawl and wonders how many
men it would take to sexually please the Arch.
"Only one, if it 'twere me."
Chuckling to himself, he continues past apartment buildings and the occasional convenience store. Pigeons soar mere feet above him, making him glad he's wearing
a paper bag over his head. The little galavant makes its way to the local park and around the small duck pond contained within. As he passes by, his 100% recycled
headpiece blinds him to the small disturbances in the pond. Two "ducks" turn out to be nothing more than plastic decoys with breathing tubes. What's more
interesting is the two men attached to the plastic ducks. Stripping off their wetsuits, they follow behind Mr. Grasshopper with malignant intent.
Oblivious to his impending doom, Grasshopper continues on his way, whistling cheerfully and working on good comebacks to possible taunts Dcunning will make.
"I shall rape thee just like the St. Louis Arch and throw in some rapics, too!"
"Mr. Grasshopper."
YGH turns just in time to be grabbed by the two black-clad men. One points a gun to his face while the other rips off the paper bag.
"Keep your mouth shut."
The men drag YGH further along the path. They pass by several citizens who seem to be blind to his panicked eyes. They turn a corner and are suddenly surrounded
by hundreds of people and a ring in the center. The men haul YGH up to the ring and throw him in, then step back and cross their arms. Befuddled, YGH gets to his
feet and looks around.
"Hey, just what in darn tootin' is going on here?"
"Mr. YoungGrasshopper, do you know who I am?"
YGH whirls and comes face-to-face with his arch nemesis.
"You.....you?"
"You're a threat to national security, Hopper. Prepare to eat pie."
"That's funny, I was just thinking about fucking the Arch a few min-"
With a gutteral roar, Colin Powell hurls himself at YGH. Too stunned to move, the men collide with a smack that reverberates through the park. Colin, still a fit man,
straddles the hapless 'Hopper and begins to lay out the pummeling of a lifetime. It's all YGH can do to hold his arms up in an attempt to ward off the blows. Cheers
emanate from the crowd; there clearly aren't many liberals around. YGH's world is starting to spin; the punches from Colin's beefy arms seem to be miles away, on
someone else's body. YGH puts his arms down and embraces the nothingness. Rather than pass out, as he expected, YGH realizes that he's entered a meditative state.
His mind is creating endorphins on a grand scale, giving him the ability to reason clearly.
And to haiku like a madman.
"Hey, Colin Powell,
You punch like a fucking girl
Get the hell off me."
Colin rears back in anguish as an intangible force latches onto his body and bodily throws him across the ring. YGH tries to perform a popup but fails miserably.
Reverting to conventional means of getting up, the 'Hopper unleashes more seventeen-syllable packages of doom against his adversary.
"How tragic, good sir,
That all your men, although strong,
Are weak in the crotch"
Cries of agony accompanied the clutching of the Secret Service men's groins. Dropping their firearms, they fall to their knees moaning and in pathetic bouts of tears.
Colin manages to make it to a corner of the ring, looking like a gazelle in headlights as he glances about furtively.
"Now, hold on, here, Mr. YoungGrasshopper, the Bush administration may have its flaws-"
"Your president sucks
I would like to beat him with stick
I would kill him dead"
YGH had been filled with furious haiku-ing energy, but his special move was begining to fade. The Haiku Attack wasn't meant for prolonged use and that fact could
be seen in 'Hopper's failing grammatical skills. Colin sees his opportunity for a getaway and makes a lunge for the ropes.
"Hey, you bitch!
Silly Secretary of State!
I...oh dear lord...my god!"
YGH fails to even distribute the syllables correctly and only manages to make a large wooden cross materialize out of thin air and fall on Azzazz, who had been
watching from the crowd. Colin hesistates at the ring apron, seeing his prey in a state of complete disarray. He begins gesticulating furiously, flailing his hands about.
A low-pitched whine begins as the outline of a pie takes shape in front of the Secretary.
"Yes, Mr. 'Hopper, the tide has turned. The only tide you will see will be one of a red nature. Come, Secret Pie! I want cherries.....and hand grenades."
The pie continues to form, looking more malevolent with each spastic jerk by Colin's figure. Suddenly, a zap...and the Secret Pie is complete.
"I....I...." YGH stutters.
"Mr. 'Hopper, your days of left-wing irrationality are over. Mama Powell's baked a special pie, just for you. Secret Pie, STRIKE!!!!!"
The pie spins on its axis, rises up to face YGH and shoots towards him. YGH covers his hands and mutters a quick prayer to Kucinich.
JEEEEEEEEEEEETTTTTTTTTTTT CIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY WWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAANNNNNNNN!!!"
From the crowd, Geoff Tate's bust hurtles through the air at a blinding pact, swallowing the Secret Pie whole on its way past the ring, and shoots up towards the sky
before exploding in a shower of sparks and demolished cherries. Colin Powell gapes in incredulity as Mike_Patton_5 rushes the ring and grabs the weakened YGH.
Shouting "GEOFF TATE CANNON!", another creepy head appears. Patton grabs onto his hair with one arm and YGH with the other. Tate's scream causes the crowd to
hold their ears. Colin tries to withstand it but is completely bowled over by the two-and-a-half men as they careen through the Secretary and leave St. Louis far behind.
WINNER: YGH (with Mike_Patton_5's assist)
-tmtk-
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A shit so powerful it perminatly stains the toilet bowl.
"I'm bout' to take a massive turbo charged tread mark shit." -said shortly before absolutely destroying the local Ikea toilet display.
An arcade game in Doom III, where you get to punch a turkey 'til it explodes! Now THAT is true entertainment. ^.^
"You can find this fun game on the first level of Doom III, in the cafeteria."
-me
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1/3 pint Stella beer, 1/3 pint strongbow cider and a Smirnoff Ice
I had a had many Street Fighter II Turbo shandy s nd hit someone outside a spoons
The woman who drives a Saab 93 convertible is chic and self-confident. Bookish and intelligent, she can be seen tooling from the library to a humanitarian event. From her specs to her driving mocs, she is classically hip, usually with a NY Times or Wall Street Journal tucked between the drivers seat and console. Her choice of music is anything from jazz to country. Almost all Saab drivers are left-handed and she is no exception. Up on everything from world events to the newest movies, she spends most of her free time being with her head buried in a book of non-fiction. She's unconventionally beautiful, hip and a trendsetter who makes no excuses for her fashion, reading or life choices. Her home is modern, free of clutter and filled with books. She doesn't care how old her Saab is, as the older the model, the chicer the look. In the summer she can be found tooling anywhere from Napa to Nantucket with the roof down and her shades on.
My blind date pulled up in a Saab 9-3 turbo convertible and immediately I was afraid that she would be more intelligent than myself
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