People, we have to talk. About this lion-killing asshole, who is an asshole, and who deserves our scorn. And yes, our headline for the piece did indeed include an imperative, inviting you to rage at the lion-killing asshole. But no, we did not suspend the rules that help make Wonkette a fun, reasonably civil -- albeit thoroughly debauched, in a GOOD way -- little web community, mommyblog, recipe hub, and Nerd magnet.
I personally wish a lifelong lack of sex on asshole lion-killer, coupled with a permanent inability to climax through masturbation. Will think of other miseries he deserves later.
Our cat killed another bird today and brought a nice live chipmunk into the living room kitchen place. Is that the same thing as this hunting thing? Chipmunk has set up house, fucking cat taking a nap.Wonkette just keep doing what you do.
I'm perfectly OK with "butthurt" because in the ancient Internet contexts where I first encountered it, it was a reference to having been soundly spanked in an argument. The other possible meaning is definitely out there, but perhaps we can make more references to riding crops to make our meaning clear.
Then again, we've gradually weaned ourselves of "-tard" constructions, so maybe "butthurt" will fade away, with only a slight stinging sedation left behind.
OK Blessed be the internet, wherein all manner of folk exhibit various traits of both saintly progressiveness and troglodyte repressiveness. Raised by both wolves and 50's era Rockefeller Republicans in the wilds of the Allegheny National Forest, I was brought up to consider the first Monday after Thanksgiving (I.e., Deer season) a High Holiday. I was raised to never aim at that which I did not intend to shoot, to never shoot at that which I did not intend to kill and to never kill that which I did not intend to use. I loved to hunt and I still get a primal thrill of firing a weapon but I don't need to see my target bleeding to get myself a chubby. Old age, drug interactions and diabetes have far more to do with any infrequent chubbies these days anyway but that's beside the fact.
I have far more in common with the lion's murderer (as a closet blood-sportsman) than many others responding here and I would STILL harbor the desire to inflict grievous harm upon his gonads with my bootheels. Too Much? Too soon? But that's just me.
*stricken* mea culpa, let's just compost him?
"There is NO Rule 6"! HA ! Rule 1:No poofters ! Great Python shoutout !
I personally wish a lifelong lack of sex on asshole lion-killer, coupled with a permanent inability to climax through masturbation. Will think of other miseries he deserves later.
Do I sense a GoFundMe on the horizon?
Our cat killed another bird today and brought a nice live chipmunk into the living room kitchen place. Is that the same thing as this hunting thing? Chipmunk has set up house, fucking cat taking a nap.Wonkette just keep doing what you do.
I demand a rule number six. Make it about Bruce or something.
Because modern, civilized man is an arrogant ass, that's why.
Considering public opinion, any GoFundMe appeal will be met with a GoFuckYou reaction.
I'm perfectly OK with "butthurt" because in the ancient Internet contexts where I first encountered it, it was a reference to having been soundly spanked in an argument. The other possible meaning is definitely out there, but perhaps we can make more references to riding crops to make our meaning clear.
Then again, we've gradually weaned ourselves of "-tard" constructions, so maybe "butthurt" will fade away, with only a slight stinging sedation left behind.
Ah, The Dance of the High Fructose Corn Syrup Prune.
Now I know why Tchaikovsky left it out of Nutcracker.
OK Blessed be the internet, wherein all manner of folk exhibit various traits of both saintly progressiveness and troglodyte repressiveness. Raised by both wolves and 50's era Rockefeller Republicans in the wilds of the Allegheny National Forest, I was brought up to consider the first Monday after Thanksgiving (I.e., Deer season) a High Holiday. I was raised to never aim at that which I did not intend to shoot, to never shoot at that which I did not intend to kill and to never kill that which I did not intend to use. I loved to hunt and I still get a primal thrill of firing a weapon but I don't need to see my target bleeding to get myself a chubby. Old age, drug interactions and diabetes have far more to do with any infrequent chubbies these days anyway but that's beside the fact.
I have far more in common with the lion's murderer (as a closet blood-sportsman) than many others responding here and I would STILL harbor the desire to inflict grievous harm upon his gonads with my bootheels. Too Much? Too soon? But that's just me.
No worries, as Nina says in the linked article, "you are humaning at the correct level" if you are distressed about both.
Bubba has feelings too, and doesn't like to be stereotyped.
your house, your rules.
[ i like your house and am glad you let me visit ]
not valid without a Donna Rose sign-off!
Ohhhh! a Chuck Norris joke rule #6!