Eloquent Eloquence (All New Format): Crank Up the Labia Saturation
By Prolixity Julien | Eloquent Eloquence | April 5, 2012 | Comments ()
Eloquent Eloquence is a compilation of the ten best comments of the week. Comments in reviews are not eligible for inclusion.
There is a link in the commenter’s name that will take you to the original post.
Dustin gave me a new directive for the list, so sit back, crank up the Labia Saturation and enjoy the show…
Steps to create a perfect ad campaign:
Step 1: Picture of Boyd Crowder, using/wearing whatever the product is.
Step 2: Caption: Fire in the Hole.
Step 3: Sell outrageous amounts of product.
Also, I would pay triple the standard audio book cost if I could hear Boyd Crowder read em to me. That dude has a cool voice. Also, Dickie Bennet would be fun too.
The banana thing kills me every time. Every damn time. There’s just something hilarious in imagining Kirk Cameron rapt with wonder in the produce department, eyes wide and tear filled, possibly even praying, as he stares at a shelf filled with proof of gods existence.
The Commandments of the UCBC (Universal Church of the Banana of Christ)
Every time an atheist speaks, a banana turns brown.
Banana bread is how Satan tempts us from the true path.
Slipping on a banana peel is meant to make us think of how slippery the road to heaven is.
Banana splits are only acceptable if there are no nuts, for they are sinful as they remind us of sinful male parts and Kirk Camerons mental state. -
“like a giant Planned Parenthood waiting room”
Like that tool has ever been in a Planned Parenthood waiting room. I’d like to put this joint out on his bare scrotum.
Usually when a woman writes an article like this one, its because her boyfriend or husband said something that was totally innocent but was taken completely out of context.
You could say literally anything to these people and they would distort it to fuel their conservative rage.
Let’s test it out.
You: I like bunnies. They’re cute.
Big Hollywood: Y’know that’s exactly the sort of sentiment that’s eroding the foundation of this country. Certainly, there are characteristics that rabbits possess that make them more aesthetically pleasing than something dull like a concrete block, or something with actual meaning like a cross; but to prioritize their perceived cuteness over other things of more traditional value is irresponsible. The liberal media does this sort of thing all the time - focusing on flights-of-fancy and the immaterial while completely ignoring the absolutely perfect cutenss of God’s favorite creation - which I shouldn’t even have to tell you is an American child.
You: But look…[flops big ears]…
Big Hollywood: Would the liberal media have us believe that rabbits are better than infant children? Should we be encouraging our children that it’s okay to idealize rabbits? I certainly wouldn’t want to expose my children to the cross-dressing hijinks of Bugs Bunny. And please, don’t try to convince me that the idolatry of the Easter Bunny isn’t a jewish liberal scheme to drive people away from the true meaning of the holiday, which is, of course, Jesus’s mortal sacrifice for our sins.
You: I got him a little blue beret and I call him Monsieur Butterhare. He’s French now.
Big Hollywood: Heed my words, this is the beginning of the end times. If we don’t return to the values of our founding fathers, when a brace of hares was a meal not a shelf of stuffed toys in a haven of hethan commerce, we’re headed down the road to destruction!
You: Say goodbye, bunny. Goodbye Mr. Scarypants! Haha. That’s my voice for him.
The interesting thing about that Lily Cole picture is how I’ll never sleep again.
FabMax: You’re shitting me.
*blinks*
*takes deep breath*
You may not hear from me directly, but when the skies darken, the earth cracks open, and every half-assed tribal tattoo springs to unholy life and throttles its bearer, you shall know my work has begun.
Woooaaaoooh Fat Betty Grand Slam
Woooaaaoooh Fat Betty Grand Slam
Fat Betty ate a Grand Slam-a-lam
Fat Betty ate 2 Grand Slam-a-lam
With Jelly Rolls, Fat Betty and her Slam-a-lams
And deep fried Oreos and toast and ham
Then she had a snack and burst her pants
I said woooaaaoohh Fat Betty
Woooaaaoooh Fat Betty
Funny, yes, but probably a bad idea to seem flippant about flushing $200M down the toilet in an economy where people are trying to decide which child to sell to put gas in the car for the week.
Are you sure that this is a good article to write in this economy when people can’t afford lobster mac ‘n’ cheese or washing machines with which to have orgasms?
/craig’d
This doesn’t mean a thing. What needs to be done is FPM, or Fucks Per Minute.
Adjusted for that, using runtimes taken from IMDB, the order is…
1. Fuck - 8.86 fucks per minute
2. Nil by Mouth - 3.34 FPM
3. Twin Town - 3.21
4. Menace II Society - 3.09
5. State Property - 3.07
6. Summer of Sam - 3.0633
7. Made - 3.0631
8. Alpha Dog - 3.00
9. Dirty - 2.886
10. Another Day In Paradise - 2.881
11. Narc - 2.82
12. Martin Lawrence Live: Rundeltat - 2.75
13. Reservoir Dogs - 2.71
14. I’m Still Here - 2.59
15. Running Scared - 2.58
16. Harsh Times - 2.55
17. Bully - 2.42
18. Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back - 2.38
19. Pride and Glory - 2.238
20. Casino - 2.235
21. Jarhead - 2.224
22. The Big Lebowski - 2.222
23. Goodfellas - 2.05
24. Brooklyn’s Finest - 2.04
25. Pulp Fiction - 1.72
Astonishing. Only two movies hold their place. Fuck, of course, remains on top, and by an even larger ratio.
I’m sure all this means something, I just don’t know what, aside from the fact that I wasted about forty-five minutes.
Ginger went for the jugular, eh?
I do, I do read them, and I AM DEEPLY SHAMED, and I CAN’T STOP, and I have looked deep into the romance novel abyss and do you know what I see looking back at me? A tall, beautiful, dark-haired man with unusual eyes, and the body of a Greek God, who is deliciously sarcastic and sometimes autocratic (which I secretly love best of all), and he does things with fierce/rough/ferocious tenderness, and his name is usually Sebastian, and I can’t stop reading about him and all the Simons and Benedicts, and Dukes and Viscounts, who give those poor ignored women sideways glances that make their hearts beat wildly in a way they hope no one will notice as their knees turn to jelly, because then, oh then all of those Sebastians raise their Sardonic Eyebrows of Seduction, smile wryly, and kiss those women senseless, and I am lost because they are so charming and maybe kind of cynical, but they still can’t help themselves because they are besotted, and they keep all those “Annabels” so safe, and they take care of them and the Sebastians help them find their own strength, and love them, oh, so very much, and I can’t even show enough weakness to buy a pink toothbrush because it’s somehow a sign of feminine frailty which I revile, or take off my armour long enough to let myself be cared for, because I am made of steel and not in a bad way, but I’m always strong, so strong, and the idea of being able to lean on someone and let that feeling steal over me is so appealing, even though I’d probably hate it, so, yes, I’ve been reading romance novels and telling myself that I only choose the good ones (which may actually be fair because I’ve stuck to just 3 authors after careful research), and giving nor asking for any quarter in my self-examiniation of this ignominious pursuit, and I tell myself it’s a phase and it will pass , but I just get more and more of them and, by the end of this coming weekend, I can guarantee I will have read a total of forty in the last two months, but at least I have the decency to hate myself for it.
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