Atomic Punk wrote:Soon to be in a nursing home to have your Depends changed by yours truly. How nice is that thought?
That's a question only you can answer, since I harbor no such fantasies. And I'm still 40+ years away from consideration for a drool team such as the ones you currently service. By that time, you'll be working toward certification in your 30th or so chosen career field, still staring up at a six-figure income that will be "just two years away." Keep reaching for the stars there, Punked.
I did my clinicals with old fossils like yourself that were literally "lame" and were "dependant" on me to get them to go through a day without laying in their own defecations and urine.
Age smack? About as effective as, well, any other variety of smack that you so poorly attempt. What makes it even more pathetic is that you're likely within five years of my age. I guess I just wasn't fortunate enough to retain the boyish handsomeness with which you've been so abundantly blessed. I feel safe in saying that I can speak for the entire male population of this board when I lament the fact that I, too, don't look like ...
So dipshit with gray stringy hair, crack on me all you want, but your grizzled shit for a body is nothing but a carcass waiting for me to wipe your ass with rubbinng alcohol.
Again with your twisted fantasies! If I were you (and I thank the Almighty I'm not!), I'd be plying my "hottie" co-workers with alcohol (since that or harder drugs is the ONLY way you could ever get one of them to even consider giving you a peck on the cheek, much less sleeping with you) rather than dreaming about rubbing it on my ass.
And since you continue to try to draw distinctions between our relative states of health, let's review the tape from the Fresneck trollstop, shall we? While one of us (me) was playing football with Harsh, freeze, et al, and otherwise engaging in athletic activity, the other one (that would be you, in case you're not keeping score at home) was on the sideline complaining of nausea, cramps, and bloating. I seem to recall your PMS symptoms even forced you to leave the festivities early. So ditch the feeble attemps at making yourself out to be the picture of health while I lay waiting at death's door. No one's buyin' it.
How many years do you have left before you either die in the streets or get put in an old folks home?
Asked and answered. Next?
The people I'm around are the coolest people I know besides my Fresneck buddies. It's mostly young girls and I feel like I'm back in high school as the fucking phone rings off the hook.
And yet, here you are.
Maybe MGbLOw will bwhahaha your next shitty reply.
You can gravytrain off of it if you like, since I know the only bwaahahas you receive are from posters (and real-life acquaintances, I'm sure) laughing at you, not with you. But I'm willing to share. I'm here to help.
I know he'll receive your swollen lower colon with anxiety as you shift and dump another pile off his cheeks.
Metaphorically (and literally, in all likelihood), you're lying face down in a fetid pool of your own vomitus, clad in your soiled and urine-soaked trousers, after having been brutally kicked about in this thread (and, for that matter, all others in which you've posted). Do yourself and the rest of us a favor - STAY DOWN!! It's already gotten too ugly watching you continue to flail. But why do I even bother offering such advice? I'm sure you'll try to land a few more blows that connect with nothing but air, as usual.
Ugly though it may be, I still wouldn't mind continuing to witness your meltdown. But, alas, I have a plane to catch. So go ahead and keep practicing your remedial smack, then claim you ran me after I don't respond. I'm willing to help soothe your battered and bruised ego in any way I can. I'm generous like that.