Inga: fett and i have been playing this game
Taco: Oh, now just so we're clear
Taco: FETT IS MINE
Inga: oh yeah? well YOU CAN'T STOP OUR LOVE
Taco: I bought him mashed potatoes! You just try and beat that!
Taco: Oh wait... yeah... boobs.
Taco: Shit.
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16 comments:
You can have him, he chose to blow up France.
Tico-Taco! Come over to MY desk and play! WE'LL HAVE SO MUCH FUN SITTING AROUND DOING NOTHING AND FEELING AWKWARD AND WEIRD 'N' SOME JUNK!
Why doesn't Coyote email me or comment on my blog anymore-uh?
... You didn't tell him you knocked me up, did you? He gon' beat me with the turkey baster!
PS - Are boobs really that big a deal? I doubt it. It's the "vajeen" that makes all the difference. But I still think he'd choose you, as is right and proper.
WAIT! I've got a plan.
It's a 5-step plan.
1. Go the store.
2. Buy a bra.
3. Stuff it full of mashed potatoes.
4. Put it on.
5. Wear it over to fett's house.
:O
*passes out*
PS. Boobs are a big deal
PPS. Hehe, peepee
PPPS. I blew up France just because. I didn't have a real reason.
PPPPS. Can't I have both you AND Taco? We could move to Nevada. Open a bed and breakfast.
Room for one more?
Always, baby. You're like Jello.
Uh, fett... I don't know if you've noticed, but... I don't really "do" nice happy relationships where everybody cares about each other and are nice all time... So... Just take Taco and Tim. It's for the best.
Ok, how about we all move to Nevada and open a brothel. You can be the Madam.
*single tear*
That's my number one dream job besides ridiculously rich and famous actress/writer/musician and Ninja!
I'd really have to taste the potatoes before I made that call. I mean c'mon, good potatoes are hard to come by.
Besides, you are all my bitches and don't fucking forget it! Don't make me flex again. I'll fucking do it!
I think spaghetti western brothel garb is a must. We'll also need somebody to man the piano for when fights break out and a crazy, toothless old man to sit in the corner and get drunk.
Noq pretty much fucking channels Cap'n Mal, so he's gotta go hang out in the main room at all times, and just be, you know, badass.
Whorin's gotta be spaghetti western whorin', else it ain't whorin' proper like.
Ok, that's it, I'm changing my name to Diamond Jim, buying a Derringer and a cane with a gold nugget head and starting a spaghetti western-themed brothel.
The next step: franchising
I'll man the piano while I'm not doin' my whorin'
I call mysterious stranger that wanders in with eternal three day stubble and no one can decide if I've come to save the town or doom it. I called it, it's mine.
Dibs on the crazy old toothless drunk who bursts in to announce all gunfights.
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