What's up, cock-knockers? It's your old buddy the Mustache, back for another round of bullshit and broads. The boys look pretty good so far, taking down Sabathia and Sheets the last two nights. And the Poet was worried. Pussy. Wisconsin may be shit for sports, but they do make good fucking beer. I've been 'faced since Sunday night. Me and the Closer Beard took a drive up north looking for some action and came across this place:
Yep, it's a strip club with a giant badger head outside, plus a storage shed with a squirrel . Only in Wisconsin, motherfuckers. It wasn't too bad, except for the dancer with the wooden leg. At least the beer was cold. Anyway, here's some more weird shit the ol' Hairball found this week:
Dougie Glanville finally got around to answering his fan mail. Nice.
The Mustache might know this chick.
This is why The Mustache is agnostic. This too.
Hey, what can Brown do for you? If I were a UPS driver, the last thing I'd fuckin' want would be a last ride in one of the turd mobiles I spent my career driving. Just sayin'
I think I found my new favorite restaurant.
All of the Mustache's teachers looked like the ass-end of an ugly mule. Where was this broad when I was a lad? And this one? Makes me wanna go back to school. With a video camera.
Sheesh. Just when I thought the Cubs-White Sox rivalry would never sink to the level of Yankees-Red Sox, this three asshats come along. It's a kid's game, you jerks. Lighten up.
The Mustache was never this hard up. Not even when I was just a pussy-tickler.
Someone’s got his panties all in a twist. Jesus Christ, drink a beer, get a blow-job, and shut the ever loving fuck up.
And now, for your leering pleasure . . . The Mustache is feeling his inner geek this week, so here's some shots of Kari Bynum from Mythbusters. Redheads, man. Can't get enough of 'em. And this one blows shit up. Hotness . . .
Disclaimer: The Mustache's viewpoints are not necessarily those of The Shooter's Lounge. If you're offended by anything The Mustache says, please remember you're taking umbrage at fiction generated by an equally fictitious strip of talking hair.-LoserPoet