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Whenever you log on to the tan-colored forum and post some holier-than-thou weapon handling crap or talk about how you need to focus on the fundamentals... don't post pictures of your brought-to-you-by-Arby's FUPA eating an appendix holstered G19. Putting 10k 9x19 downrange each year won't stop that heart attack from having to run 300 yards. I don't give a shit what names you drop or what $2k 1911 you're using if you're another guy who's gut prevents him from doing push-ups. Nice plate carrier. I guess you don't need soft armor inserts, Captain Blubbergut.
I can see my dick when I look down.
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For the amount of money I've put into you, you'd think that I'd at least get some morning sex. But you're furniture, not a sputnik... so I guess that's okay. One day I'll come home from a business trip one and you'll be not-just-a-little fat and, yep, that'll be it. Keep your bags packed, baby.
I love vegetables. Why can't you?
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Yes, I run a Rock River AR-15. No, I didn't buy it; it was a gift. Instead of trading it and my left nut for a Colt or a KAC or whatever, I chose to shoot the shit outta it. You can bitch about the inferior components and shoddy assembly all you want but I'm still outshooting you and I didn't have a single stoppage in 2k rounds. Now who's the real dumbass, Mr. Fancy Patriot Ordnance Factory Pants? Instead of spending so much money on your jam-'o-matic and cool guy sunglasses, how about you buy some big boy pants instead of blowing out the crotch of your skin tight Columbia hiking trousers in the middle of a three day shoot class and showing your bubblegum wad to BOB? DCU pants are $15 in Spring Lake at Old Sarge's.
And I'm a lousy shot.
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I hope your new boyfriend/husband beats off as much as I used to do back in the day. It isn't that you're bad in bed; you're spectacular... but you're a total psycho. What's that? You're better now that you changed your birth control? Well, eat a dick! You couldn't do that for me when I asked? Oh, you needed a change in your life? Thanks. I'm glad our divorce could be that change. If you ever find urine stains on your door mat... it's just me. You and every other over-emotional woman I've nailed in the last decade had the same story: girl finds boy, girl hates boy, girl finds me, girl hates me because I'm stable/boring, girl leaves me for old boy, old boy just wants anal, girl gets herpes, girl vaguely regrets leaving me, girl joins Peace Corps.
Meat on meat.
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Thanks for all the heads-up PMs, guys. You're like little Beavis clones. If there ever was a reason for me to pop the locks on your cars with a Big Easy kit and fill the back bench seats with day-old catfish innards, this would be it. It wasn't enough that people need to act like please-blackmail-me Reddit types, but you had to remind me that it was happening. Real public service. Why I'm pissed? You didn't think to share. Talk about clueless.
Jerkoffs.
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Dear Giant grocery stores: Your fat free cottage cheese with pineapple chunks makes me feel like vomiting. I have no idea why; I normally love cottage cheese and fruit. I think the combination of the sweetness of the canned fruit and the saltiness of the cottage cheese combines to produce *gag*.
Nom nom nom.
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Stop using children as a crutch to justify your mediocre life resume. You can't whine about life if you have no plan of action. You might have a higher IQ than me and a fancy degree, but you're still another tubby beatoff sock playing World of Warcraft and fapping it to Japanimation girls. Get a grip.
You're not even 30.
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Wow, reading that aloud actually made me feel better. GO FEELINGS!
Last edited by Plan9; 08-05-2010 at 10:36 PM..
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