Genre Parody
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Why must the Monkey subject poor Timmy to the horrors of his variegated fluids? The gods themselves, they do not know.
Archive
-
▼
2007
(109)
-
▼
January
(12)
- It should be clear by now that I'm shit at thinkin...
- Genre Parody
- Reader Mail #5
- Fan Art #1
- It Doesn't Just Give You Cancer
- What's on the Nature Channel?
- Today is my Birthday
- From the Latest Foetuswear Catalogue:
- Technowankery
- A Slayer's Work is Never Done
- The Foetid Stench of Capitalism
- Back in Black and White
-
▼
January
(12)
Search
Labels
Consume!
Local Talent
Dirty Foreigners
Advertising
8 comments:
Master Splinter:"Boys, I beleive we may have been infiltrated by a Foot Army spy."
Donatello:"Why would you think such a bogus thought, Master Splinter?"
Master Splinter:"Because there should only be 4 of you, you f*cking idiot!"
"Is this the room for breast implants?"
"Yes and if you shut the fucking door I'll be able carry on explaining the chart on the wall to these other losers."
"Who's there? Repent your sins!" cried Sofie, the new girl from Kansas.
Harriet, standing on the table, bade the others shut up. If they were quiet enough then the annoying blind God squadder would take her little bible and leave again. If not, they would have another tennis-racquet murder on their conscience.
"Who let small head in?"
Another meeting of the Junior Man Haters Club.
"...and then by repeatedly beating each other with these raquets we can keep our developing breasts suitably flat, thereby ensuring no man will find us attractive."
There's a diagram on the wa.... Oh for God's sake Millicent! Shut the door, we can't see!"
It was a classic 3 way stand-off:
Tennis players against shoulder riders;
Pig-tail sitters against pig-tail standers;
Black light groovy art against regular light circle art;
No doubt about it: School Girl Rumble.
"Erotic fiction is down the hall, this is racquet fucking" said the one in the middle.
Stick with the original...
Post a Comment