Grab her with your meat paws, Lancaster. Indeed, Doug, grab her with
your meat claws.
-James Earl Jones, from Field of Dreams
I'm a giant can of tuna, enter my meat house.
-James Earl Jones, from the film Meat Castle: The Inner Meat
meat and beef, the new vomit and shit. tonight was a lot of agains, but the candor
was burning like i had a mouth for an asshole. a lot clinks, yella thoughts, vomit,
a lot of things, Lancaster's ridiculously inflated dome-piece. Something interesting
though: the longer you look at Burt Lancaster's deformed head and neck, the more
you realize how normal we all are.
"Gotta have Romulus."
-Rainman Doug
Double Double Chunk Chip. A splattered yap master, dum dum gum slum, put your face in your brothers bum.
People warn that you're not supposed to eat bowls of ceral before your dinner, because it will spoil your appetite. I say, that's bullshit. Eat all the cereal you want. You can have your Shredded Wheat, your Product 19, your classic Total. If anyone gives you any kind of shit for eating cereal before dinner you just punch them in the neck and say "You crashed in, now you can crash the hell out" and then push them through a fucking window and add "now get the hell out" and when they finally thud you end with "This is my boatride, jacko."
And then you choose your favorite cereal food, hot cereals not included because nobody eats hot cereal unless you have DIABETES and your Wilford Brimley. And everyone respects and fears Wilford Brimley because he'll take your milk money and your hot cereal like that.
Now dance for Uncle Wilford. Dance. Another thought: I have big ears, butt not as big as Burt Lancaster's. He's got ridiculous ears, ears that would make a man split in half out of jealousy. In fact, his ears' broadness exponentially effects his victim's beings. A frail child would be disintegrated instantly at the sight of Burt Lancaster.
In fact, in 1969, a year after the film "The Swimmer," Lancaster was involved in a horrible disaster. An entire boy's school slain in an instant; Lancaster would later comment, "Those fucking kids," and then begin talking to his forearm, whom he affectionately refered to as "Carmine the Tramp."
When Burt Lancaster reached the years required for the age of 12, his curiosity bested the boy
constantly. His parents were in a fiscal sinkhole, the boy breaking his bones everyday, requiring
touted physicians hailing from 'cross the country.
His parents then donated the boy to the greyhound races. The young strapping Lancaster was
quite aptly strapped to a pole and chased by dogs night after night. But he was as nimble as he was charismatic. He would hypnotize the simple beasts by manipulating his chest hair into ice cream sandwiches and spaghetti. He took himself very seriously in the early days, especially during nights of the BIG CHESTHAIRS. The BIG CHESTHAIRS were an annual swimming, running, and arguing contest that every burly man and Burt lanccaster would compete to prove themselves as the BIG CHUNK-man. Burt almost always won the BIG CHESTHAIRS, and every little boy dreamed of someday becoming the BIG CHUNK-man like old Uncle Sonofabitch Burt, But one night, the eve of the BIG CHESTHAIRS, Burt Lancaster heard a knocking at his door. He opened it to find a group of angry and well-dressed people. They were Burt's old friends and neighbors.
"Burt. We haven't seen you in a dog's age. You're a great big joke!"
And Burt was so shocked and suprised by this that he yelled many things and clamored to the nearest mountain base and climbed up the side of it. When he reached the top of the mountain, he found a golden gate, and sunshine was everywhere he Burt looked. He ran to the gate and put his big meatpaws on it, but it wouldn't budge, and the iron made Burts hands bleed. He hugged himself for comfort and decided to climb the gate. It was easy to do. He walked into a garden and it began to pour rain. He kept walking, deeper and deeper into the garden. Soon he stopped seeing plants and flowers, and began seeing metal ropes and ghosts of his daughters playing tennis. The rain began to come down in torrents and he still found himself without pants or a shirt or a friend in the world.
Long story short, he found a house, went inside and some dike bitch gave him a dry tug-job and fixed him some warm milk and he went to sleep pretty quickly.
And that's the story of how Burt Lancaster exposed the myth of women's rights.
-
your meat claws.
-James Earl Jones, from Field of Dreams
I'm a giant can of tuna, enter my meat house.
-James Earl Jones, from the film Meat Castle: The Inner Meat
meat and beef, the new vomit and shit. tonight was a lot of agains, but the candor
was burning like i had a mouth for an asshole. a lot clinks, yella thoughts, vomit,
a lot of things, Lancaster's ridiculously inflated dome-piece. Something interesting
though: the longer you look at Burt Lancaster's deformed head and neck, the more
you realize how normal we all are.
"Gotta have Romulus."
-Rainman Doug
Double Double Chunk Chip. A splattered yap master, dum dum gum slum, put your face in your brothers bum.
People warn that you're not supposed to eat bowls of ceral before your dinner, because it will spoil your appetite. I say, that's bullshit. Eat all the cereal you want. You can have your Shredded Wheat, your Product 19, your classic Total. If anyone gives you any kind of shit for eating cereal before dinner you just punch them in the neck and say "You crashed in, now you can crash the hell out" and then push them through a fucking window and add "now get the hell out" and when they finally thud you end with "This is my boatride, jacko."
And then you choose your favorite cereal food, hot cereals not included because nobody eats hot cereal unless you have DIABETES and your Wilford Brimley. And everyone respects and fears Wilford Brimley because he'll take your milk money and your hot cereal like that.
Now dance for Uncle Wilford. Dance. Another thought: I have big ears, butt not as big as Burt Lancaster's. He's got ridiculous ears, ears that would make a man split in half out of jealousy. In fact, his ears' broadness exponentially effects his victim's beings. A frail child would be disintegrated instantly at the sight of Burt Lancaster.
In fact, in 1969, a year after the film "The Swimmer," Lancaster was involved in a horrible disaster. An entire boy's school slain in an instant; Lancaster would later comment, "Those fucking kids," and then begin talking to his forearm, whom he affectionately refered to as "Carmine the Tramp."
When Burt Lancaster reached the years required for the age of 12, his curiosity bested the boy
constantly. His parents were in a fiscal sinkhole, the boy breaking his bones everyday, requiring
touted physicians hailing from 'cross the country.
His parents then donated the boy to the greyhound races. The young strapping Lancaster was
quite aptly strapped to a pole and chased by dogs night after night. But he was as nimble as he was charismatic. He would hypnotize the simple beasts by manipulating his chest hair into ice cream sandwiches and spaghetti. He took himself very seriously in the early days, especially during nights of the BIG CHESTHAIRS. The BIG CHESTHAIRS were an annual swimming, running, and arguing contest that every burly man and Burt lanccaster would compete to prove themselves as the BIG CHUNK-man. Burt almost always won the BIG CHESTHAIRS, and every little boy dreamed of someday becoming the BIG CHUNK-man like old Uncle Sonofabitch Burt, But one night, the eve of the BIG CHESTHAIRS, Burt Lancaster heard a knocking at his door. He opened it to find a group of angry and well-dressed people. They were Burt's old friends and neighbors.
"Burt. We haven't seen you in a dog's age. You're a great big joke!"
And Burt was so shocked and suprised by this that he yelled many things and clamored to the nearest mountain base and climbed up the side of it. When he reached the top of the mountain, he found a golden gate, and sunshine was everywhere he Burt looked. He ran to the gate and put his big meatpaws on it, but it wouldn't budge, and the iron made Burts hands bleed. He hugged himself for comfort and decided to climb the gate. It was easy to do. He walked into a garden and it began to pour rain. He kept walking, deeper and deeper into the garden. Soon he stopped seeing plants and flowers, and began seeing metal ropes and ghosts of his daughters playing tennis. The rain began to come down in torrents and he still found himself without pants or a shirt or a friend in the world.
Long story short, he found a house, went inside and some dike bitch gave him a dry tug-job and fixed him some warm milk and he went to sleep pretty quickly.
And that's the story of how Burt Lancaster exposed the myth of women's rights.
-
posted by Doug at 6:09 AM
2 Comments:
6:09am?? Jeez guys, I'm awfully sorry for calling you at 9:30am. I'm sorrier still that Jamie's phone sucks and kept cutting out. My reason for calling was that I lost my phone somewhere between Chris Dauray's house and your car and your house and then your car again. Is my phone in your car? Is it in your house? It's on so if you call it, it should ring. Should you find it, let me know!
Now, onto the important business. It is very important that you talk more about BIG CHESTHAIRS. Also, how would you compare Burt Lancaster to, say, Chuck Norris? Bigger? Better? Dumber? Funner?
I have to unpack my car now, and then shoot myself in the face, and then have a movie made about me called "Lifty McBoxes Shootface: a MOVING tragedy." The role of Lena Webb would be played by Haley Joel Osment.
Nevermind! Barn found my phone!
But what about the BIG CHESTHAIRS?
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