(By Bax) Thanksgiving is a time of tradition. Some people celebrate with family–eating turkey with all of the trimming. I celebrate by offering the most revolting 2 minutes in radio. As we sit here enjoying the spoils of another successful Mayflower Marathon, I shall describe for you (in horrifically graphic detail) the spoilage that is ruminating from the back of my pants. Friends, there are parts of my body that smell worse than the poop-shovel that they use at the Big E circus. My body has such a violent bouquet that it smells like somebody threw a rancid pork chop into an overflowing cat box and then sprayed it down with bong water just to freshen things up.
I smell so bad that the chicks in that “Two Girls one cup video” would turn me down based entirely upon how I might affect their reputation. I’m so nasty that there are guys stepping out of the Bondi’s Island executive washroom who are complaining about the smell! I stink so badly that is smells like you’ve pulled all of my fingers! I haven’t showered in three days. I forgot my deodorant at home. I brushed my teeth less than an hour ago and I’m pretty sure that it didn’t take. My breath smells like I was Devine’s understudy in Pink Flamingos. (Go on. Look it up!). If you dropped a box full of Steak-Ums in my pants they’d be overdone in 30 seconds. Thankfully I’m making my own dipping sauce. I’m so funky that everybody at the Hall of Fame has been forced to breathe through their mouths. My body is caked with so much filth that I need to be strapped to the back of a flat bed truck, stripped bare assed naked, and taken through a Golden Nozzle car wash, complete with the under-body flush…twice! I would burn your eyes out. I’m so nasty that if I spread my butt cheeks it would look like somebody pulled apart a grilled cheese sandwich.
Now, having said that, don’t let that prevent you from donating to the Mayflower Marathon. Believe me, there is more than one reason why we established that Pay Pal account. It’s not meant for your convenience. It was put in place as a public health measure so that people, like you, don’t start passing out from the furious, eye melting stank that’s wafting through the air at the Basketball Hall of Fame. It’s for you protection. You can always keep you distance from me personally. Believe me, you’ll be thanking me later.
Sorry, this content is for members only.
Already a member? Login below…