"Bitch, I'm a cow..."
You know this groovy 2018s thing ? Lowest effort imaginable "youtube content creation" in the approximatively shapely presentation of some lame-ass cvasi-black chick sorta-kinda dancing, high as a kite ? "I'm not a cat, I don't say meow, bring out my hay!" and so on ?
Well, we just discovered it (by which me I don't mean we... uh... actually what I meant to say was that by which we I don't mean me, I just happilly followed along, okay ?) and it definitely has its very distinct cool about it. The author
hercowself doesn't really seem to be all that privy to it -- she's just doing slight take-offs the same old black dudes "music" (mostly, the background dancing she'd have had any cultural truck with) such as it is, but... hey, it works. It works quite well, actually, and perhaps never was a piece quite so helped by the death of its author it presupposes as in this case.
Outro : She cow pig had kittens.
Also, we watched some well-reputed bit of lesbian-feminist nonsense, called 4 months 3 weeks and 2 days. It's by Cristian Mungiu, it has the two insufferable, vaguely adolescent, "independent" minded heifers required by such productions, it's... god fucking awful, really.
Besides being offensive falsification of lived history -- assuredly and certifiedly no precious cuntlet of humble (aham, "healthy") origins ever was that fucking impudent in the company of the well to do social elite of the late 80s, gimme a fucking break, all these airs of "I'm a person" and "I got my rights" and bla bla bla Clintonesque importation are about as anachronistic as some dude "making himself" an astronaut. Bitch'd have suckled while cooing lovingly every last strand of toe jam off that putative mother-in-law-s sweaty feet, and if you have "other opinions" on the matter you just weren't fucking there, that's all.
But... whatever, what are the lost for, if not making this sort of dumb shit up ? Needless to say, if you've watched this thing and took it seriously you're already in line for that activity. As ye olde expression goes... faceti bezele, baieti.
Tort... de... bezele.
Anyways, time to go for a little bit o' shopping, don't you think so ?
Well... honestly... me either, but what the fuck am I gonna do with all this money ?!
Bridging the years and oceans... bitch can't fit through the bitch-fitin' hole! Dat be where dem bitches fit the fittings, I askt&inquired, yet nevertheless..
What can I tell you, neither can I. But, as the old Romanian joke goes, "Missy, at these prices... I make my own fucking holes."
That woman had her work cut for her that evening, as I'm sure you can imagine. What you can't imagine, I don't expect, quarantine-addled misfortunates & deplorables as you find yourselves, is just how much damn fun she had doing it.
These people genuinely enjoy work, it's a pleasure to watch.
Enough indoor shots though. As the more perspective advertising critics have well noticed, I am under strict contract with the local naturaleza to present at least a coupla stills representative of their commercial offerings & de loisir. So let's get that out of the way then...
Lovage the lovable frog is harem-wide famous for his utterly crazy fucking ideas.
You know what you do after you crab up a bitch (technically, after your Heidi bitch crabs up your bitch) ? Why, you stick tiny chocolates in the hole (after the various dongs, of course, what the fuck). Let her choke in her own spit and drool all over the place excitedly.
But do you know what you do after you take the hierramenta off ? You ask her how it was, and listen to her say this was not actually as terrible as the time you shoved Turkish delight in her piehole before pegging it nice and shut with a hefty ballgag, so she delightedly choked on delight a whole fucking evening.
The Turks were enchanted, by the way.
Need I say more ?
Right, I guess we're ready for the meat.
And so, I suspect, is the little boy.
I mean... you gotta start somewhere, sometime, somehow.. amirite ?
Alrighty, well... what can I say to close this. It could be whorse ? I guess ?