|
The Amazing Adventures of Barnacle Butt and McStinky (2)
Where Twisted Things Live
|
 Blog For Free!
Archives
Home
2007 May
2006 December
2006 November
2006 September
2006 August
2006 July
2006 June
2006 May
2006 April
2006 March
2006 February
2006 January
2005 December
2005 November
2005 June
2005 May
2005 April
2005 March
2005 February
2005 January
2004 December
2004 November
2004 October
2004 September
2004 August
2004 July
2004 June
2004 May
2004 April
My Links
Bead Kink Catalogue by Michelle
Thunder Howls
JOHN (AKA BARRY)
The Flip Side
McStinky
Urban Injun
Todd's Journal
FunknEvil
Rilla's Blog
Ginger's Blog
Carla's Blogspot
One word - cool
Dark Bridges
Tales from Iraq
tBlog
My Profile
Send tMail
My tFriends
My Images
Sponsored
Blog
This is my adopted goth fetus named "Cringe". Hooray fetus!
|
| The Amazing Adventures of Barnacle Butt and McStinky (2) |
| 07.07.04 (10:08 am) [edit] |
When we pulled up to our campsite, we were still a little wierded out by our encounter with Stumpy's daughter, but all negative feelings quickly disappeared when we took in the site before us. Nestled in an isolated spot in the trees, was a large clearing. A picknic table and barbeque were there and the entire site was dotted with blooming wild roses. It was perfect!
We easily set up both of our tents (Hobbit holes) with plenty of room to spare. I had brought along an old washing machine drum that I had stolen from the campground on my last excursion into the woods. [What? If they didnt' want me to take it, they would have chained it to something.] Quickly, I dug a hole for it and half buried it so that we could have a bonfire that night. Before long, we had the perfect hide away home away from home. After an excellent meal and an evening playing our guitars by the fire, we turned in for a restful nights sleep.
We awoke the next day fresh and jubulant. We quickly gathered our gear for our morning swim, which we vowed to partake of every day before breakfast. I was just packing my bag when....That was when I first heard it. A low rumbling sound that I could not identify. I looked at Esmirelda and thought that she was also trying to discern the source of the growling sound since she had an intensely thoughtful look on her face.
"Do they have bears in these woods?", she asked me. I didn't know. It wasn't until a few minutes later when the force of the odour cloud nearly knocked me unconscious. I scrambled for the tent flap, my fingers fumbling frantically with the zipper. As I clumbsily emerged into the open air that I realized that the look on Esmirelda's face wasn't one of thoughtfulness at all. It was GUILT. She sat in the tent giggling at me, looking something like this:

Now, forever, my friend...McStinky.
Continued later.....
|
|
|
| |
posted by: McStinky (reply)
post date: 07.07.04 (9:22 pm)
i am SO offended by that picture. there should be WAY more stink lines.....and where the hell is my magnificent rack?!?!?!?
posted by: SNEEVIL (reply)
post date: 07.07.04 (10:22 pm)
Reply to: McStinky
Sorry man...I was using paint. My hand isn't steady enough to do your fantabulous rack the proper justice.
posted by: SNEEVIL (reply)
post date: 07.07.04 (10:23 pm)
I DID get the booty in there though. You likea da bootie?
posted by: McStinky (reply)
post date: 07.08.04 (5:50 pm)
I likea da booty!! only...what am i supposed to be holding? ...or are those my hands....? heh
|
IS FEELING...

Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
How to cook an alien
Mom stuff
Suppressed Inventions
Memory Hole (What they don't want you to know)
NINJAS
The Sneeze
One Stop Shopping
Babes, Broads 'N' Bitches
Another essay by PETER
PETER strikes again
PETER goes to hell
PETER'S best work
Original by JEREMY

HTMLCounter.com

|