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Parasta Parsaa Jokaiseen Yöttömään Yöhön.
Posted by morkkis
- Sat 23.05.2015 19:04:15 (UTC+0300)Posted by morkkis
- Mon 02.09.2013 08:24:03 (UTC+0300)Posted by morkkis
- Wed 22.05.2013 11:55:56 (UTC+0300)Posted by The Änes
- Sat 29.12.2012 19:04:15 (UTC+0200)http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9OLF_lrGcw
Every time you stifle a sneeze, the force of the sneeze cannot simply disappear from existence. It must manifest elsewhere, often causing a small creature to explode or a chef's hat to fly off into the air.
La toque blanche. The chef's hat. Why is it shaped like a mushroom cloud? Because they both sure can cook. And why is a mushroom cloud shaped like a mushroom? Not many people know this, but out in the forest, right where every mushroom grows, there used to be a tiny Japanese city, so tiny that even David the Gnome could commit accidental genocide just by taking a poop without looking.
Ironically, Gnome Poop is highly sought after in Japan, because of its mystical properties and because it tastes good on sushi, for people who can't handle wasabi. Here in America, Gnome Poop's mystique is somewhat overshadowed by that of Unicorn Seed! the hip new soda pop that all the kids are guzzling on the street corners. Its popularity has been hugely fostered by product placement in popular films. For instance, in the film "Muscular Hooker 2", Will Smith's character takes a dramatically-framed swig of Unicorn Seed! and then suddenly grows a CGI erection which extends into infinity, and then Will Smith's mind explodes, and the movie ends.
For that scene alone, Roger Ebert gives the film 3 and a half stars. Not many people know this, but movie critics have a finite amount of stars they can award in their lifetime. They are often kept in a vault, heavily secured to prevent a senile Scrooge McDuck from wandering in, mistaking the stars for gold coins, and swimming in them. This is for Scrooge's own protection, as the stars have sharp edges and would lacerate his body into a bloody feathered pulp.
If this were to happen, his will states that the entire McDuck fortune will go to his grandnephews Huey, Dewey, and Louie, and that his nephew Donald will get zilch, because nobody understands what the Christ he is saying anyway so who cares. As for Scrooge McDuck's body, it will be jerked and eaten, as per Scottish tradition.
Indeed, cannibalism of the dead is a cherished custom in Scotland. When a Scottish boy's coming of age is celebrated (a ceremony known as the Scot Mitzvah) he is forced to consume his own great-grandfather, bones and all, in just 24 hours, or else the local Shaman will hit him on the head with a magical stick that stops him from ever becoming an adult.
Now, you might think that eternal childhood wouldn't be such a bad thing, Never-Never-Land and all that jazz. But no! Once your parents are dead, there's nothing to stop you from eating nothing but sweets, as children are wont to do. And when your baby teeth have rotted away, there will be no adult teeth to take their place. Toothless, stupid, and unkissed by the spirits of puberty, you will be banished from Scotland to the only place in this world where an awkward man-child such as yourself can ever hope to be accepted— Ireland.
You will live as a leprechaun. You will don a false beard and a green bowler and stand on the streets jabbering about a nonexistent pot of gold. When darkness falls, you will sleep in an alley on a bed of night soil, clutching a potato, which will be your surrogate mother. If you are found by leprechaun poachers, your only hope for escape is to mesmerize them with a sprightly leprechaun jig, and then stab their eyes out with your leprechaun stiletto. Then you must run away— to find another Irish hamlet, and the cycle will repeat forever until one of three things happens: 1. The poachers get too smart for you. 2. You starve to death. 3. The stifled sneeze of a distant someone causes you to explode and die.
Every time you stifle a sneeze, the force of the sneeze cannot simply disappear from existence. It must manifest elsewhere, often causing a small creature to explode or a chef's hat to fly off into the air.
La toque blanche. The chef's hat. Why is it shaped like a mushroom cloud? Because they both sure can cook. And why is a mushroom cloud shaped like a mushroom? Not many people know this, but out in the forest, right where every mushroom grows, there used to be a tiny Japanese city, so tiny that even David the Gnome could commit accidental genocide just by taking a poop without looking.
Ironically, Gnome Poop is highly sought after in Japan, because of its mystical properties and because it tastes good on sushi, for people who can't handle wasabi. Here in America, Gnome Poop's mystique is somewhat overshadowed by that of Unicorn Seed! the hip new soda pop that all the kids are guzzling on the street corners. Its popularity has been hugely fostered by product placement in popular films. For instance, in the film "Muscular Hooker 2", Will Smith's character takes a dramatically-framed swig of Unicorn Seed! and then suddenly grows a CGI erection which extends into infinity, and then Will Smith's mind explodes, and the movie ends.
For that scene alone, Roger Ebert gives the film 3 and a half stars. Not many people know this, but movie critics have a finite amount of stars they can award in their lifetime. They are often kept in a vault, heavily secured to prevent a senile Scrooge McDuck from wandering in, mistaking the stars for gold coins, and swimming in them. This is for Scrooge's own protection, as the stars have sharp edges and would lacerate his body into a bloody feathered pulp.
If this were to happen, his will states that the entire McDuck fortune will go to his grandnephews Huey, Dewey, and Louie, and that his nephew Donald will get zilch, because nobody understands what the Christ he is saying anyway so who cares. As for Scrooge McDuck's body, it will be jerked and eaten, as per Scottish tradition.
Indeed, cannibalism of the dead is a cherished custom in Scotland. When a Scottish boy's coming of age is celebrated (a ceremony known as the Scot Mitzvah) he is forced to consume his own great-grandfather, bones and all, in just 24 hours, or else the local Shaman will hit him on the head with a magical stick that stops him from ever becoming an adult.
Now, you might think that eternal childhood wouldn't be such a bad thing, Never-Never-Land and all that jazz. But no! Once your parents are dead, there's nothing to stop you from eating nothing but sweets, as children are wont to do. And when your baby teeth have rotted away, there will be no adult teeth to take their place. Toothless, stupid, and unkissed by the spirits of puberty, you will be banished from Scotland to the only place in this world where an awkward man-child such as yourself can ever hope to be accepted— Ireland.
You will live as a leprechaun. You will don a false beard and a green bowler and stand on the streets jabbering about a nonexistent pot of gold. When darkness falls, you will sleep in an alley on a bed of night soil, clutching a potato, which will be your surrogate mother. If you are found by leprechaun poachers, your only hope for escape is to mesmerize them with a sprightly leprechaun jig, and then stab their eyes out with your leprechaun stiletto. Then you must run away— to find another Irish hamlet, and the cycle will repeat forever until one of three things happens: 1. The poachers get too smart for you. 2. You starve to death. 3. The stifled sneeze of a distant someone causes you to explode and die.
Posted by The Änes
- Sat 29.12.2012 18:33:24 (UTC+0200)Kah tossa oli välissäkin joku, siis tuo kommentti oli tuohon "Kukaan ei voi jäädä kotiin" kappaleeseen 
Tuo taksikuskijuttu oli huvittava
Tuo taksikuskijuttu oli huvittava
Posted by morkkis
- Sat 29.12.2012 18:30:42 (UTC+0200)kauheeta kiusaamista saatana poistan tunnukseni ja tapan itteni
poistan tunnukseni ja tapan itteni Posted by The Änes
- Sat 29.12.2012 18:26:52 (UTC+0200)Oli tossa taustamusiikissa jotain huumoriarvoa
Posted by morkkis
- Sat 29.12.2012 18:25:37 (UTC+0200)http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xd6_3T_6XFg
tääki menis tänne jos oikein yrittää ei oo tuttu, mut on koittanu myydä mulle levyä
tääki menis tänne jos oikein yrittää
ei oo tuttu, mut on koittanu myydä mulle levyäPosted by morkkis
- Sat 29.12.2012 18:23:49 (UTC+0200)Quote from: Saruman Jänes on Sat 29.12.2012 18:22:39 (UTC+0200)Niin, eikä toi nyt oo ees varsinaisesti tuttuQuote from: Anneli on Sat 29.12.2012 18:18:03 (UTC+0200)Aika shaissee
*
postaan tän tänne koska tuttu
Posted by The Änes
- Sat 29.12.2012 18:22:39 (UTC+0200)Quote from: Anneli on Sat 29.12.2012 18:18:03 (UTC+0200)Aika shaissee
*
postaan tän tänne koska tuttu
Posted by Tieko
- Sat 29.12.2012 18:19:02 (UTC+0200)
Posted by morkkis
- Sat 29.12.2012 18:18:03 (UTC+0200)Posted by The Änes
- Sat 29.12.2012 18:16:36 (UTC+0200)http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IKYmK7WL_3g
What a skeletal wreck of man this is.
Translucent flesh and feeble bones,
the kind of temple where the whores and villains try to tempt the holistic domes.
Running rampid with free thought to free form, and the free and clear.
When the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at a
laundry mat to sift and focus on the bigger, better, now.
We all have a little sin that needs venting,
virtues for the rending and laws and systems and stems are ripped
from the branches of office, do you know where your post entails?
Do you serve a purpose, or purposely serve?
When in doubt inside your atavistic allure, the value of a summer spent, and a winter earned.
For the rest of us, there is always Sunday.
The day of the week the reeks of rest, but all we do is catch our breath,
so we can wade naked in the bloody pool, and place our hand on the big, black book.
To watch the knives zigzag between our aching fingers.
A vacation is a countdown, T minus your life and
counting, time to drag your tongue across the sugar cube,
and hope you get a taste.
WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS FOR?
WHAT THE HELL'S GOING ON? SHUT UP!
I can go on and on but lets move on, shall we?
Say, your me, and I'm you, and they all watch the things we do,
and like a smack of spite they threw me down the stairs,
haven't felt like this in years.
The great magnet of malicious magnanimous refuse, let me go,
and punch me into the dead spout again.
That's where you go when there's no one else around,
it's just you, and there was never anyone to begin with, now was there?
Sanctimonious pretentious dastardly bastards with their thumb on the pulse,
and a finger on the trigger.
CLASSIFIED MY ASS! THAT'S A FUCKING SECRET, AND YOU KNOW IT!
Government is another way to say better...than...you.
It's like ice but no pick, a murder charge that won't stick,
it's like a whole other world where you can smell the food,
but you can't touch the silverware.
Huh, what luck. Fascism you can vote for.
Humph, isn't that sweet?
And we're all gonna die some day, because that's the American way,
and I've drunk too much, and said too little,
when your gaffer taped in the
middle, say a prayer, say a face, get your self together and see what's happening.
SHUT UP! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!
I'm sorry, I could go on and on but
their times to move on so, remember: you're a wreck, an accident.
Forget the freak, your just nature.
Keep the gun oiled, and the temple cleaned shit snort,
and blaspheme, let the heads cool, and the engine run.
Because in the end, everything we do, is just everything we've done
What a skeletal wreck of man this is.
Translucent flesh and feeble bones,
the kind of temple where the whores and villains try to tempt the holistic domes.
Running rampid with free thought to free form, and the free and clear.
When the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at a
laundry mat to sift and focus on the bigger, better, now.
We all have a little sin that needs venting,
virtues for the rending and laws and systems and stems are ripped
from the branches of office, do you know where your post entails?
Do you serve a purpose, or purposely serve?
When in doubt inside your atavistic allure, the value of a summer spent, and a winter earned.
For the rest of us, there is always Sunday.
The day of the week the reeks of rest, but all we do is catch our breath,
so we can wade naked in the bloody pool, and place our hand on the big, black book.
To watch the knives zigzag between our aching fingers.
A vacation is a countdown, T minus your life and
counting, time to drag your tongue across the sugar cube,
and hope you get a taste.
WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS FOR?
WHAT THE HELL'S GOING ON? SHUT UP!
I can go on and on but lets move on, shall we?
Say, your me, and I'm you, and they all watch the things we do,
and like a smack of spite they threw me down the stairs,
haven't felt like this in years.
The great magnet of malicious magnanimous refuse, let me go,
and punch me into the dead spout again.
That's where you go when there's no one else around,
it's just you, and there was never anyone to begin with, now was there?
Sanctimonious pretentious dastardly bastards with their thumb on the pulse,
and a finger on the trigger.
CLASSIFIED MY ASS! THAT'S A FUCKING SECRET, AND YOU KNOW IT!
Government is another way to say better...than...you.
It's like ice but no pick, a murder charge that won't stick,
it's like a whole other world where you can smell the food,
but you can't touch the silverware.
Huh, what luck. Fascism you can vote for.
Humph, isn't that sweet?
And we're all gonna die some day, because that's the American way,
and I've drunk too much, and said too little,
when your gaffer taped in the
middle, say a prayer, say a face, get your self together and see what's happening.
SHUT UP! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!
I'm sorry, I could go on and on but
their times to move on so, remember: you're a wreck, an accident.
Forget the freak, your just nature.
Keep the gun oiled, and the temple cleaned shit snort,
and blaspheme, let the heads cool, and the engine run.
Because in the end, everything we do, is just everything we've done
Posted by The Änes
- Sat 06.10.2012 12:14:45 (UTC+0300)