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PostPosted: Fri Oct 12, 2012 9:48 am 
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Location: Orange County Ca.
Plook moonlights at male strip clubs to find used leather codpieces. The smell of leathered cheese pleases his nose.


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PostPosted: Fri Oct 12, 2012 10:45 am 
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coevad hangs out at male strip clubs to see if any Forum members are working there, he rather enjoys the cheese snacks and wears the used codpieces as a hats, he is a closet fasionista... :smoke:


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PostPosted: Fri Oct 12, 2012 11:34 am 
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Location: Eugene, OR
In a dimly lit corner of Plook's not-so-secret basement sits the fondue pot. Plook fires up the sterno and melts a quarter pound block of Tillamook pepperjack cheese. He mixes in a dram of Ann Coulter venom. He pours half of it into a custom made zircon-encrusted codpiece molded to coevad's precise dimensions and heads off to the karaoke bar. "I can't wait till he tries it on," he chortles. Plook's dog, Gary, canes trendmongerii, sniffs out the leftovers after Plook departs and licks the fondue pot clean. He goes upstairs and out through the doggie door. He cruises around the neighborhood, pissing here, pissing there, humping a poodle, humping the leg of the old lady who's walking the poodle, licking his browneye, doing all those lovable doggie things, until he reaches a point where he must defecate. As fate would have it, it's coevad's front yard. (Never mind geography. Gary's a magical dog.) Gary dumps. He sniffs. He finds his turd's aroma intoxicating and prances off to his next appointment. Coevad's dog comes upon this selfsame turd not five minutes later, sniffs in disbelief and gobbles it up on the instant. He goes back inside and curls up at coevad's feet. Coevad is entranced by Justin Bieber on The Voice. "Why can't I sing like that golden-throated boy toy?" he mourns quietly to himself. "It's so unfair." His dog vomits all over his left foot. "Angus, you bastard!" coevad screams. "I'm gonna cut your balls off!" Poor Angus heads for the Hollywood Hills. Coevad cleans up the puke and misses the rest of his beloved Bieber. He curses his luck and the fucking mutt for good measure. The Ann Coulter venom gets into his bloodstream subcutaneously. He is overcome by the sudden urge to gobble his left arm. Things get bloody.


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PostPosted: Fri Oct 12, 2012 11:57 am 
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Pope Jim sure writes creepy stories. I don't trust him at confession no mo' :shock:

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PostPosted: Fri Oct 12, 2012 3:01 pm 
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Caputh's last time in confession the church was still speaking Latin... :smoke:


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PostPosted: Fri Oct 12, 2012 3:23 pm 
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Pope really did lie. Plook's pot was full of Limburger. You know, the stuff that's aged using cow manure, and my dog died before he got to the doorstep. I think I winged trendog with my pellet gun. I heard yelps!


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PostPosted: Fri Oct 12, 2012 8:18 pm 
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Location: Puisard Radioactif
coevad ate his dog for dinner

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PostPosted: Fri Oct 12, 2012 9:03 pm 
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ZutboF begged me for the innards.....I gave in.


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PostPosted: Sat Oct 13, 2012 5:06 am 
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Coevad kept Angus's privates. Why not? It's a ready-made codpiece. He's interviewing taxidermists and cheesemakers as you read this.


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PostPosted: Sat Oct 13, 2012 8:31 am 
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Pope Jim has given up collecting codpieces. He's off to Scotland to trade them for a nice warm sporran.


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PostPosted: Sat Oct 13, 2012 1:01 pm 
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coevad got so excited when he heard about Pope Jims smelly codpiece, he went out and purchase a fishing pole and headed to the pier... :smoke:


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PostPosted: Sat Oct 13, 2012 4:56 pm 
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Plook used the same codpiece for three days before he passed it on to coevad; all he ever caught was the crabs.


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PostPosted: Sat Oct 13, 2012 6:43 pm 
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Pope Jim collects STD's... :smoke:


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PostPosted: Sat Oct 13, 2012 9:02 pm 
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Plook collects fromunda cheese for his fondue pot.


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PostPosted: Sun Oct 14, 2012 8:14 am 
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coevad keeps his collection of cheesy jokes in an old Fondue pot from the 70's... :smoke:


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PostPosted: Sun Oct 14, 2012 8:39 am 
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Plook's dog, Gary, keeps sneaking into the not-so-secret basement, hoping to come upon another not-so-cheesey treat in the fondue pot. Finding nothing for the fifth time (or maybe more -- five is as high as he can count), he takes a massive dump on the control console of Plook's time machine. He mopes his way back upstairs and convinces Plook to share a can of Alpo with him. Then they watch the Seahawks game. Gary hates the Seahawks. He mostly licks his balls and bites fleas that get too near his winker.


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PostPosted: Sun Oct 14, 2012 1:44 pm 
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Pope Jim spends far to much of his time concocting truly outrageous lies... :smoke:


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PostPosted: Sun Oct 14, 2012 6:04 pm 
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Plook is guilty of telling the truth again. (You really must work on that.) Seems like my whole life is a long string of lies. But tell the truth, man: Haven't I enriched your life immeasurably with my bullshit?


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PostPosted: Sun Oct 14, 2012 10:12 pm 
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Pope Jim life is so enriched by the truth that he glow in the dark!

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Je suis désolé pour les roles que j'ai joué dans toutes ces videos, ce n'est pas tres valorisant pour l'humanité mais si cela peu avoir fait progresser la science, alors il y aura eu un coté positif.


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PostPosted: Mon Oct 15, 2012 2:55 am 
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Zutbof is a masochist.

Pope Jim wrote:
Seems like my whole life is a long string of lies. But tell the truth, man: Haven't I enriched your life immeasurably with my bullshit?


Shouldn't this be in the question thread?

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PostPosted: Mon Oct 15, 2012 6:46 am 
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simplex II used to keep it simple but in an effort to become complex he attempted to enrich himself by gathering large quantities of the newest fad item on the market, straight from the Papal Vatican it's Pope Jims Bullshit...are you incapable of putting together a complex sentence, do people yawn in the middle of your best stories, are people maneuvering away from you at Cocktail Parties like your with the Inquisition? Well no more just enrich yourself with Pope Jims Bullshit and watch your stories grow longer and more unbelievable to the point people can't look away! Side effects may include some really dark shit, often repeating oneself, and long evenings in your not so secret basement...

:smoke:


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PostPosted: Mon Oct 15, 2012 8:12 am 
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Plook mainlined 6 ccs of Pope Jim's Premium Bullshit and actually pooped out something funny. Now if we could just find something to improve his spelling and punctuation. (Pope Jim's sanctified weewee wine? Hmmm...) Gary, on the other hand, ate the rest of PJ's bullshit and remained as stupid as ever. Life is strange and so unfair.


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PostPosted: Mon Oct 15, 2012 3:48 pm 
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Pope Jim's bullshit is a special kind of bullshit. Bullshit from the other side of the fence.Bullshit you can hang your hat on. Bullshit that you throw in a paper bag and light on fire. Pure bullshit! Thanks for the shit Jim!


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PostPosted: Mon Oct 15, 2012 4:35 pm 
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coevads quest is completed, like the search for Eldorado and the Tree of Life he has traveled high and low in search of the illusive Pure Bullshit. The fact the Papal Pontiff has it, has set off his Conspiracy Detector and he is sure that the Vatican has been hiding the secret to Pure Bullshit in the Papal not so secret basement since the middle ages...right next to the Holy Grail...

:smoke:


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PostPosted: Mon Oct 15, 2012 5:20 pm 
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Location: Wellington New Zealand
The phone in the deluxe ocean view suite of the Peeble Beach Lodge rang, Alice removed his snorex device, reached across and answered. As instructed the operator said "this is your six sixty six am wake up call, it's time to rock and roll Mr Cooper" without a word Alice dropped the receiver onto it's cradle and grinning broadly leapt from his super king sized bed with the agility of a much younger man, straining his monogrammed once blood red now faded pink onesie with the ripped knee. As his feet sank into the shag pile rug at the foot of the bed, Alice reached down picked up his ever present five iron and took a few brutal practise swings laughing maniacally checking himself out in the full length mirror as he did so. I'm really enjoying this leg of the tour he thought.
Across town in a far far less salubrious establishment, the early morning sunlight streamed through the fly speckled venetian blind casting a stripped pattern across the haphazardly shaved body of the quivering poodle. Gary bore a striking resemblance to an emaciated zebra with a lopsided mohawk, his furstyle the result of Plook the youngers fascination and experimentation with her fathers trendy new SR9130 Remington razor. Gary was noisily grooming himself, his rough pink and black spotted tounge repeatedly scouring his lower extremities. The sunlight fell on a small pyramid of off white crystalline powder sitting on the screen of Plooks i Pad. The comatose Plook was curled up in a fetal position, the undersized king single bed was severely cramping his style. When the the phone rang Plook instinctively reached out knocking his i Pad off the bedside table and sending an avalanche of the white powder and his Walmart loyalty card plunging to the floor. Cursing Plook unravelled himself, gingerly removed a now soggy rolled up Ben Franklin from his left nostril and answered the phone. As instructed the operator said "Good morning TLP this is your seven oh six am wake up call" with a weary sigh Plook dropped the receiver onto it's cradle and fell back with a thud on to the underfilled pillow, glancing down he realised Gary had darted across the room and was hoovering up the last of his Pope supplied sprinkled party favour from the bedside rug. Instantly Gary began to tremble and emit a high pitched growl, what little fur he had left was standing to attention as was his chiuaua sized penis, with his eyes bulging and fangs bared Gary began running at speed around the periphery of the motel room. Plooks i Pad churped indicating he had mail, thats just great Plook thought a wry smile crossing his face, I get the mail and Gary gets the wood. The Legendary Plook was not enjoying this leg of the tour at all.


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