Frothing Boners and Girlz, Oh My!
Quick note to T-Dogg: a Frothy Girl has no resemblance to, or in no way is anything like a Rusty Trombone or a Dirty Sanchez. Get your mind out of the gutter, fucking degenerate. T-Dogg, by the way, is a buddy of mine who has the dirtiest looking porn-stashe I’ve ever seen, is about the size of an out-of-shape NFL offensive lineman, smokes two packs a day while playing video games, and SHE can usually be found snoopin’ around a trash bin near you.
Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Boner, pronounced with an owner. As in, “would the owner of the blue Chevy that’s parked in my neighbors yard please get off of the sidewalk.” And while the same blue Chevy definitely has a sticker of Calvin pissing on a Ford logo placed prominently on the back window, I’m not sure if it has a scrotum attached to it, which I thought was a fuckin’ hilarious blast in your post last week Shannon. Yes, most of you probably know Shannon as the editor of FrothyGirlz.com based on the fact that you are more than likely at that site right now reading this. I’m only clarifying this because I do have one faithful reader who is probably in his cubicle reading it off my site–which resembles the inside of an unflushed truck-stop toiletbowl compared to the Lamborghini that these ladies have earned the right to drive at FrothyGirlz! In other words, it’s a real honor ladies, and I appreciate you allowing me to drop in. So I better tell you my schtick before anyone sees that pic of the rusty van with ”Free Candy” spray-painted on the side of it, notices my name is the Boner In Sweat Pants, and goes calling the cops. Not that I’d blame you, but I’m actually what some people might modestly refer to as a guru. Either that, or an asshole. That’s right, I’m a real Dick Simmons, only I’m not flaming, and typically my balls aren’t found squirshed up against my pasty white man-loins as I go prancing around to the oldies, or whatever the fuck that dude did. Rather, I tend to be more on the side of promoting health and wellness. It just so happens that I’m doing so in one of the fattest cities, in THE fattest country, on the planet. That’s not my opinion, it’s a fact. So if it offends you, then fuck you. You probably are fat. That’s ok though…I’m here to help. I really am, but if the truth is too much for you to handle, then I suggest you open that fat-ass, and insert head now. You see I don’t give a goddam about being your friend, and when it comes to exercise and/or physical movement (or lack therof), most people around here either suck at it, and therefore a.) don’t do it, or b.) do it daily, but in a fashion that is so non-sensical and ridiculous, you’d think I had to be making shit up. I’m not. Quick example, even though this has nothing to do with exercise, it’s just too good not to share. I’m not exactly “technically savvy,” however, I’ve moved beyond the ”technically retarded” stage, which I was at for quite some time. Anyway, since I’ve begun to figure this shit out, I noticed one of the more hilarious things I’ve seen lately, and that is the keyword(s) that somebody used the other day to have linked their way to my “high-quality health and wellness education web log.”
It was Hitler’s boner.
Fucking Hitler’s boner?!? How great is that!?! Who the fuck do you think would be wanting to find Hitler’s boner? What, was Hitler’s hard-on not turning out any results? Was Adolph’s Member not specific enough? Hitler’s boner. Too fucking good!!! I’m dying to meet the freak that wanted to see Hitler’s fucking boner! Next time maybe you should punch in “Hitler’s canned mushroom.” Forget the fact that I wrote a post once titled “Bitch, You Can’t Play Hitler’s Harmonica,” this motherfucker was looking for ”Hitler’s boner?!?” What the fuck? Do you think they were actually trying to find my page, just in case I was some anti-semite erection-loving freak, or do you think it was an accident made by some dude who lives in his mom’s basement, has some weird, sick and twisted fetish, and felt the need to do a quick Google search for “Hitler’s boner” before going out and polishing off that killing-spree he started? Fucking awesome. Hitler’s boner. Too good.
Alright Frothy friends, that’s enough for me today, but because I never got back around to explaining exactly what a real BISP is, I’m leaving you with this perfectly-put explanation.
It was nice talking with you, and feel free to visit my more serious side at www.TrainSmartKC.com. Enjoy this classic description of “Gym Guy.”
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