There is no topic

[Guest Zack Malibu]

I like big butts and I cannot lie...

[rising up out of the back seat-nuh 0]

So what songs do you reckon would sound funniest if sung by Stephen Hawkins?

 

I say Baby Got Back or Peaches by The Presidents Of The U.S.A

[Guest Eagan469]

I DID IT ALL FOR THE NOOKIE *BEEP* THE NOOKIE *BEEP* THE NOOKIE

[Guest Eagan469]

GIDDY-UP!

[Guest CanadianChris]

I'll bet we've been together for a million years

And I'll bet we'll be together for a million more

Oh, it's like I started breathing on the night we kissed

And I can't remember what I ever did before

 

What would we do, baby

Without us

What would we do, baby

Without us

And there ain't no nothin' we can't love each other through (ooo-ooo)

What would we do, baby

Without us

Sha-la-la-laaaaa

[Guest godthedog]

I GOT BITCHES IN THE LIVING ROOM GETTIN' IT ON, AND

THEY AIN'T LEAVIN' TILL SIX IN THE MORNIN'

SO WHAT YOU GONNA DO? sheeyit,

I GOT A POCKET FULL OF RUBBERS AND MY HOMEBOYS DO TOO

SO TURN OFF THE LIGHTS AND CLOSE THE DOOR

BUT FOR WHAT? WE DON'T LOVE THEM HO'S, yeeah,

SO WE GONNA SMOKE AN OUNCE TO THIS

G'S UP, HO'S DOWN, WHILE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS BOUNCE TO THIS

he's got his mind on his money, and his money on his mind.

[Guest Eagan469]

 

Well, that has to suck.

[Guest Eagan469]

 

This guy lacerated my tongue!

[Guest Eagan469]

[rising up out of the back seat-nuh 0]

 

Oh Micky

You're so fine

You're so fine you blow my mind

Hey Micky

Hey Micky

[Guest kingkamala]

Back by popular demand (Or lack thereof) More Jethro Tull!

 

 

 

Walking through forests of palm tree apartments ---

scoff at the monkeys who live in their dark tents

down by the waterhole --- drunk every Friday ---

eating their nuts --- saving their raisins for Sunday.

Lions and tigers who wait in the shadows ---

they're fast but they're lazy, and sleep in green meadows.

 

Well, let's bungle in the jungle.

Well, that's all right by me, yes.

Well, I'm a tiger when I want love;

I'm a snake if we disagree.

 

Just say a word and the boys will be right there,

with claws at your back to send a chill through the night air.

Is it so frightening to have me at your shoulder?

Thunder and lightning couldn't be bolder.

I'll write on your tombstone, "I thank you for dinner.''

This game that we animals play is a winner.

 

Well, let's bungle in the jungle.

Well, that's all right by me, yes.

I'm a tiger when I want love;

I'm a snake if we disagree.

 

The rivers are full of crocodile nasties,

and He who made kittens put snakes in the grass.

He's a lover of life, but a player of pawns ---

yes, the King on His sunset lies waiting for dawn

to light up His Jungle as play is resumed.

The monkeys seem willing to strike up the tune.

 

Well, let's bungle in the jungle.

Well, that's all right by me, yes.

I'm a tiger when I want love.

I'm a snake when we disagree.

 

Yes, let's bungle in the jungle.

Well, that's all right by me, yes.

Well, I'm a tiger when I want love.

I'm a snake when we disagree.

 

Let's bungle in the jungle.

Well, that's all right by me, yes.

I'm a tiger...

 

(fade out)

 

 

And now maybe one of the top five songs ever written

 

 

This is the end

you made your choice and now my chance is over.

 

I thought I was in

you put me down and say I'm goin' nowhere.

 

Save me darlin'

I am down but I am far from over.

 

Give me somethin'

I need it all 'cause I am runnin' over.

 

Back in the race I'm movin' in 'cause I am getting closer.

I'm diggin' in

 

I want it more than anything I've wanted.

Save me darlin'

 

I am down but I am far from over. . ..

Save me darlin'

 

I am down but I am far from over.

Give me somethin'

 

I need it all 'cause I am runnin' over

 

I'm runnin' over

I'm runnin' over.

[Guest CanadianChick]

 

I like cheese.

 

 

 

 

Don't you?

[rising up out of the back seat-nuh 0]

I like nice cheese and I cannot lie

You other brothers can't deny

When a girl walks in with with some cheese on a plate

And she sticks it in your face

You get SPRUNG~!

[Guest Agent of Oblivion]

This thread is in dire need of some Frank Zappa:

 

I want a nasty little Jewish Princess

With long phony nails, and a hairdo that rinses

A horny little Jewish Princess

With a garlic aroma that could level Tacoma

Lonely inside

Well, she can swallow my pride

 

I want a hairy little Jewish Princess

With a brand new nose, who knows where it goes

I want a steamy little Jewish Princess

With over-worked gums, who squeaks when she cums

I don't want no troll

I just want a Yemenite hole

 

I want a darling little Jewish Princess

To specifically happen with a pee-pee that's snapin'

All up inside

I just want a princess to ride

 

Awright, back to the top...everybody twist!

 

I want a funky little Jewish Princess

A grinder, a bumper, with a pre-moistened dumper

A brazen little Jewish Princess

With titanic tits, and sand-blasted zits

She can even be poor

So long as she does it with four on the floor

(Vapor Lock)

 

I want a dainty little Jewish Princess

With a couple of sisters who can raise a few blisters

A fragile little Jewish Princess

With Roumanian thighs, who weasels and lies

For two or three nights.

Won't someone send me a princess who bites?

[Guest Sandman9000]

[Guest JMA]

Best. Shirt. EVER.

[Guest kingkamala]

I have a craving.........for human flesh.......... oh damn there's no evil smiley

[Guest MarvinisaLunatic]

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Chapter 1

 

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.

"Whenever you feel like criticizing any one," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had."

He didn't say any more, but we've always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I'm inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought — frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.

And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don't care what it's founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction — Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the "creative temperament." — it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No — Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.

My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this Middle Western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan, and we have a tradition that we're descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather's brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War, and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on to-day.

I never saw this great-uncle, but I'm supposed to look like him — with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in father's office I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm centre of the world, the Middle West now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe — so I decided to go East and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep school for me, and finally said, "Why — ye — es," with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year, and after various delays I came East, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.

The practical thing was to find rooms in the city, but it was a warm season, and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town, it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather-beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington, and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog — at least I had him for a few days until he ran away — and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.

It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.

"How do you get to West Egg village?" he asked helplessly.

I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood.

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

There was so much to read, for one thing, and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities, and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides. I was rather literary in college — one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the "Yale News." — and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the "well-rounded man." This isn't just an epigram — life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.

 

tune in tomorrow for part 2 of chapter 1!

[Guest welshjerichomark]

Fuck it didn't work

[Guest MarvinisaLunatic]

that looks like mr yuk..er..well it did!

[Guest SP-1]

dude.

[Adam 0]

This thread rules.

[Guest welshjerichomark]

Sure it does

[Guest razazteca]

Fubar quit shrilling your crap.

 

Marvin, Man on the Moon was a great movie.

[Guest KingOfOldSchool]

[Guest Kotzenjunge]

[Guest Kotzenjunge]

[Adam 0]

Well, the dirt bike would certainly even things up.

[Guest The Superstar]

The SWF's very own...

 

[Guest Kotzenjunge]