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The kind where you feel the poopie come out, but there is no poopie in the toilet.
The kind where you poopie it out, see it in the toilet, but there is nothing on the toilet paper.
The kind where you wipe your butt 50 times and it still feels unwiped, so you have to put some toilet paper between your butt and your underwear so you won't ruin them with stains.
SECOND WAVE POOPIE:
This happens when you're done poopie-ing and you've pulled your pants up to your knees, and you realize that you have to poopie some more.
POP-A VEIN-IN-YOUR-FOREHEAD POOPIE:
The kind where you strain so much to get it out, you practically have a stroke.
LINCOLN LOG POOPIE:
The kind of poopie that is so huge you're afraid to flush without first breaking it into little pieces with the toilet brush.
It's so noisy, that everyone within earshot is giggling.
The kind of poopie you have the morning after a long night of drinking. It's most noticeable trait is the skid marks on the bottom of the toilet.
The kind where you want to poopie but all you do is sit on the toilet and fart a few times.
SPINAL TAP POOPIE:
That's where it hurts so badly coming out, you'd swear it was leaving you sideways.
WET CHEEKS POOPIE:
The kind that comes out so fast, your butt cheeks get splashed with water.
THE DANGLING POOPIE:
This poopie refuses to drop in the toilet even though you are done poopie-ing it. You just hope that a shake or two will cut it loose.
THE SURPRISE POOPIE:
You're not even at the toilet because you are sure you are about to fart, but
- a poopie
Today we salute you,
Mr. Backyard Bug Zapper Inventor.
Not content to harmlessly repel insects with lotion,
You discovered a way to fry them with electricity until their bodies explode.
Ah the sounds of summer:
The blood-curdling scream of a moth having 700 volts of electricity shooting through its body.
(music to my ears)
Every night a magical explosion of exoskeleton and insect goo that can only mean one thing:
So crack open an ice cold Bud Light, Mr. June Bug Blaster,
Then sit back, and watch the fireworks.
People don't play sports because its fun. Ask any athlete, most of them hate it, but they couldnt imagine their life without it. Its part of them, the Hate/love relationship. its wat they live for. They live for the practices, parties, cheers, long bus rides, invitationals, countless pairs of diff. types of shoes, water, Gatorade, & coaches u hate but appreciate. They live for the way it feels when you beat the team next to you by 1 pt. in overtime, & you know those 2 extra sprints you ran in practice were worth it. They live for the way you become a family with your team, they live for the countless songs you sing in your head when your running ALL those suicides. They live for the competition, they live for the friends, the practices, the memories, the pain, its who they are. It's who we are. WE ARE ATHLETES.
A blonde decides to learn and try horse back riding assisted without any experience or lessons. She mounts the horse with great effort, and the tall, shiny horse springs into motion. It gallops along at a steady and rhythmic pace, but the blonde begins to slip from the saddle.
Out of shear terror, she grabs for the horse’s mane but cannot seem to get a firm grip.
She tries to throw her arms around the horse’s neck, but slides down the side of the horse anyway. The horse gallops along, seemingly oblivious to its slipping rider.
Finally, giving up her frail grip, she leaps away from the horse to try and throw herself to safety. Unfortunately, her foot has become entangled in the stirrup.
She is now at the mercy of the horse’s pounding hooves as her head is struck against the ground again and again.
As her head is battered against the ground, she is moments away from unconsciousness or even death when Todd, the Wall-Mart Manager, runs out to turn the horse off.
Today we salute you, stressed out college student, during exam week. As you sit in your lonely cubical in the library, doped up on Starbucks & Aderol, you think to yourself, 'am I ever going to need to know this stuff in life?' The distractions are tempting and you have suddenly diagnosed yourself with ADD along with advanced delusionary schizophrenia with involuntary narcissistic rage. I'm sure by now you know exactly what everyone is doing because you have checked your buddy list 800 times. Christmas break is just days away, and your Prozac prescription will be in tomorrow. So crack open an ice cold Bud Light after that last exam, because for most of us, Christmas will be spent in rehab.
Simpsons Away Messages
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