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Message
re: Greatest Story Ever Told Lineup.
Posted on 1/6/16 at 6:57 pm to Chef Leppard
Posted on 1/6/16 at 6:57 pm to Chef Leppard
Commit to the Dookie
Posted on 1/6/16 at 7:21 pm to crispyUGA
Dookie was a good boy.....he never hurt nobody
Posted on 1/7/16 at 9:48 am to DawgCountry
Just remember that it's a marathon, not a sprint. Leave some meat on the bone for the rest of us. Follow Chef's lead.......easier said than done.
Posted on 1/7/16 at 11:20 am to Spunky
I did my best. Not easy since some of the names are abbreviated on the original list. Based on my research, the requested ranters not on the original list are:
Broncothor
UgaZag2
Red&black
Retooc
NuwayDawg
Dawgsontop34
By the way, I have the next two paragraphs written and ready should DawgCountry fail to show.
Broncothor
UgaZag2
Red&black
Retooc
NuwayDawg
Dawgsontop34
By the way, I have the next two paragraphs written and ready should DawgCountry fail to show.
This post was edited on 1/7/16 at 12:06 pm
Posted on 1/8/16 at 8:00 am to Broncothor
quote:
Is this thing dead?
yep
Posted on 1/8/16 at 8:43 am to Beantownbulldog
Did anyone copy part 1? Spunky? Let's finish this bitch. Frick Big Brother.
Posted on 1/8/16 at 1:59 pm to Cobb Dawg
If I had been second.... oh well...
You would have never guessed this of me if you had known me in my younger days. I was not the mean-spirited type of kid that usually foreshadows the spiteful and dangerous adult I have become. I never pulled the wings off of flies or tortured the neighbor’s kittens; sure, I burned a few ants with a magnifying glass, but who hasn’t. I was, instead, a rather sweet and forgiving person. I forgave my alcoholic father for his Sasquatchian romps though our family harmony. He was as mean as a trapped opossum and as stupid as a carnival vendor, but he never physically harmed me. I forgave my best friend, Andy, for sleeping with my high school sweetheart after she left me. He is now a distant maggot-eating, slime-sucking, someone-I-used-to-know son of a bitch, but forgiven. I even forgave my older sister, Julie, for telling me she got an abortion at age 17 and making me keep the secret. As a 13 year old, I was mortified, especially since she never told me of the father. In my mind, I created this huge ugly older man, chocolate as a Hershey Bar, pounding my sister from behind with sweat popping from his body as she moaned with the satisifed look she has when she takes a bite of cotton candy at the fair.
But I am no longer that man. I would go to bed angry, night after hellish night, only to wake up with an optimism and a fresh approach. The pounding my heart took the day before having restored itself like a balloon reinflated, I would promise myself to smother the bitch with kindness and thereby force her to adapt and revert into the girl I thought I married. Only to again be pounded, berated, belittled, and bitched into submission, frustration and anger again and again. Until the day came when I woke up and the place on my heart remained flat. It scarred and calloused, became infected and grew into a living tumor of hatred, vengeance and spite. I know it is there because I can feel it throb and spasm, radiating hatred so fiercely at times, like now, that it fogs my mind, dims my hearing, and clouds my vision like a putrid fog from the fart of a three-day dead elephant. It is all I can do to keep my eyes on the road, but I will. I will keep driving, I will not let this diseased hatred kill me; at least not until I find her. Find her and take my revenge. For me and for Dookie. Here I come bitch, here I come.
You would have never guessed this of me if you had known me in my younger days. I was not the mean-spirited type of kid that usually foreshadows the spiteful and dangerous adult I have become. I never pulled the wings off of flies or tortured the neighbor’s kittens; sure, I burned a few ants with a magnifying glass, but who hasn’t. I was, instead, a rather sweet and forgiving person. I forgave my alcoholic father for his Sasquatchian romps though our family harmony. He was as mean as a trapped opossum and as stupid as a carnival vendor, but he never physically harmed me. I forgave my best friend, Andy, for sleeping with my high school sweetheart after she left me. He is now a distant maggot-eating, slime-sucking, someone-I-used-to-know son of a bitch, but forgiven. I even forgave my older sister, Julie, for telling me she got an abortion at age 17 and making me keep the secret. As a 13 year old, I was mortified, especially since she never told me of the father. In my mind, I created this huge ugly older man, chocolate as a Hershey Bar, pounding my sister from behind with sweat popping from his body as she moaned with the satisifed look she has when she takes a bite of cotton candy at the fair.
But I am no longer that man. I would go to bed angry, night after hellish night, only to wake up with an optimism and a fresh approach. The pounding my heart took the day before having restored itself like a balloon reinflated, I would promise myself to smother the bitch with kindness and thereby force her to adapt and revert into the girl I thought I married. Only to again be pounded, berated, belittled, and bitched into submission, frustration and anger again and again. Until the day came when I woke up and the place on my heart remained flat. It scarred and calloused, became infected and grew into a living tumor of hatred, vengeance and spite. I know it is there because I can feel it throb and spasm, radiating hatred so fiercely at times, like now, that it fogs my mind, dims my hearing, and clouds my vision like a putrid fog from the fart of a three-day dead elephant. It is all I can do to keep my eyes on the road, but I will. I will keep driving, I will not let this diseased hatred kill me; at least not until I find her. Find her and take my revenge. For me and for Dookie. Here I come bitch, here I come.
This post was edited on 1/8/16 at 2:02 pm
Posted on 1/8/16 at 8:46 pm to Broncothor
Vidalia. What a shitehole. If it weren't for onions and Florida and I-75 and I-16, nobody would have ever heard of the place. And the space it now occupies would be full of pine trees and wild hog and deer shite. But the ground is so fertile you can piss on it and grow kidneys. And God the girls. I'm not talking about the over 35's that wear their over-stressed tights and riding boots to try and emulate the college girls who come home with the latest styles. I'm talking about the ones like her. I started noticing her when she was first allowed to come to football games without her parents. They would drop her and her friends off and they had the run of the stadium. I was a freshman with no playing time so I had plenty of time to look around. It wasn't until she became a cheerleader and I became a starter that she really came onto my radar. God has never created a better pair of legs than the ones that sprouted from that short cheer leading skirt. My heart pounded every time she came onto the field to give hugs after a game those first few times. It wasn't long until we were in the back seat of my '76 Monte Carlo doing things that her daddy probably wouldn't have approved of. I was first the teacher, then I became the student. She was full of life and enthusiasm and willing to try anything. Her folks were both alcoholics, and she inherited the dependency. Everybody in Vidalia drank liquor. The more affluent smoked weed. The most affluent could afford coke or at least steal pills from their parents. By my senior year we were veterans. And she was a girl gone wild.
This post was edited on 1/8/16 at 9:02 pm
Posted on 1/8/16 at 10:19 pm to Cobb Dawg
I heard Cobb Dawg did Vidalia in the shithole but what could you really expect from a poor county girl named after an onion? Seriously, were her parents stoned that weekend or just such loathsome trailer trash they thought only of their cheap amusement instead of the lifelong torment and deflated self esteem that would lead to a life of prostitution with a client list littered exclusively with dwarfs and cajuns with weird sexual practices involving waterfowl smeared with swine feces. Since Cobb Dawg was a midget in a traveling Mexican minstrel show I guess it came as relief to each when the sun went down and darkness soaked with low rent liquor closed in on both of them in a sweet sticky embrace. Still, even in the 3am terror sweats both dreamed of a bigger, bolder, broader life of carny workers or septic system semi professionals. Life was simple as Cobb Dawg enjoyed peeling back Vidalia's layers and she enjoyed it was all over before she really had do do anything of great effort, well at least not until he asked for a ...
Posted on 1/8/16 at 11:45 pm to Cheese Grits
Very good so far, what is the lineup, don't want to miss my at bat...................
Posted on 1/9/16 at 5:34 am to Cheese Grits
My apology if you're from Vidalia. It's just a story. I was more thinking of a George Clooney-type Cobb Dawg, but if "midget in a traveling Mexican minstrel show works" then run with it.
This post was edited on 1/9/16 at 10:14 am
Posted on 1/10/16 at 9:24 pm to Cobb Dawg
has lineup changed? I was originally 5th. Looks like it might be my turn but I wasn't after Cheese originally. Also, that very last sentence is missing a phrase or something at the "enjoyed it" part. It reads like there are a couple of words missing.
This post was edited on 1/10/16 at 9:39 pm
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