~Ashkeangel's Musings~

Happy Fucking Memorial Day!

Well said~

toddalan:

I’m off from work…

and getting paid for it.  Seriously it is day’s like today where I actually think that there is a God.  Yeah, I know I’m supposed to be thinking about soliders past and what they’ve sacrificed so the world remains in our control, but, come on…the only thing on anyone’s mind today is seeing how many hamburgers they can eat and if Aunt Millie going to perform her ‘How-Many-Hotdogs-Can-I-Shove-In-My-Twat’ trick after she’s had a few dozen beers.

No one - albiet maybe for a few of us - is actually using today for what it’s meant for; remembering fallen heroes.  The majority of people use today as yet another holiday and think only of themselves.  Examples:

I hope it’s nice out.  What are we cooking?  I’m getting wasted.  We’re going out on the boat.  I’m going to a party.  I get to sleep in.  Get the fuck over yourselves. (me included as I’ve said more than one of the above in the past few days.  I hate it when I piss myself off.)

You know I’m sure it was a nice clear day, the Platoon sat around by a fire cooking whatever rations they had left cause no one could make it too the front line to replenish there supplies, they were sipping on brandy they pilferred from a war crushed home in France just to have something warm inside of them before they had to cross the river on a boat with so many holes, so many blood stains on it, that it only reminded them of death and how soon it was coming, and then a party of Germans’ ambush them and the shooting starts once again.  Private Timmy get’s shot in the face.  Tomorrow, he get’s to sleep in.

Just nod your head for a minute.  I think, at the very least, they fucking deserve that.

Early morning

KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN FART

This… is hysteical!

toddalan:

(disclaimer.  I’ve not had KFC in months.)

Today, I felt a rumbling.  At first you shift in your seat, maybe it will go aw…nope.  It’s here to stay.  So you look around, notice peoples positions, if they’re paying attention to surroundings, and you start looking for a scape goat as all the best farters do.  With my mark within my sights, I test the air pushing through the vents above me.  It’ll head east to west.  It’ll follow down the row with ferosity and I’ll hit every single one of them with it’s full fury.  I already know that’ll it at least last the thirty feet; the full lenght of the row of cubicles I sit on.

I make my move.  BLLAAARRRRRPPPPTTTTTTT!  My cheeks flap, just a hint.  And there it is - my creation - my nostrils flare and when the smell of my colon hit’s my sense, I take it in.  It smelled like KFC.

Arron, who sits next to me, was the first to notice.  “Hey, someone’s got chicken.”  And then Cheryl, “Someone’s got KFC.” 

This was actually the first flatulence that I’ve ever wanted to take credit for.  I mean usually there all hot and smelling like I shit out a dead Mexican but this one boy’s and girls, this one had the smell of 11 herbs and spices.

“That was my fart.”  I said proud and outloud.  They covered there noses but not before taking in one last hit. 

“It smells like chicken man.”  Arron said putting his face inside of his shirt.  “Kentucky Fried Chicken.”  I smiled as if I won a prize.

The woman behind me, not having heard my disclaimer and warning of said fart says this:

“I’m hungry.  Someone just walked by with some chicken and now I’m starving.  I don’t have my lunch schedules for another half and hour and that chicken smells awesome.”

Now Arron, Cherly and I are laughing so hard we’re crying.  I had to tell her that her ‘chicken’ came from my ass.  What a good day.