8 Creepy Pick Up Lines

Over the past week or so, Lee and I (with some collaborative help from Monty, Lindsey, and Rob) have been brainstorming a bunch of creepy pick up lines. Lines that convey a slippery grip on sanity, and an utter lack of human communication skills. We wanted to prove that one sentence, spoken with the awkwardness of 5 senior proms combined, can strike fear and uneasiness within the hearts of women worldwide.

Warning! If you actually say these things to a woman, you'd better know how to take a punch in the dick.

But two things first;

1) These also qualify as things you don't want to hear while walking alone in a dark alley. Boy or girl.
2) Use a gruff, axe-murdery, unsettling interior voice when reading them. Trust me. Way better payoff.

Also, whisper one of these lines to your dad, and send a picture of his reaction to me at shutyourcunt@yahoo.com. You will be rewarded with Cheez-Its.

Here's them gems...



1. "Time to look at my jammies."





2. "Do you like soft things?"





3. "In 15 minutes, we won't even be here."





4. "You smell cultural."





5. "Milky Pete wants his bologna."





6. "They found ticks in me."





7. "Hostage party!"





8. "Wanna take a ride in my giggle buggy?"






Well, I'm off to the bars, ladies.
Smell ya later.

Babe, I Love You So, Please Don't Go

Blog update:

You might be asking yourself, "What the hell is going on with the banner at the top of this site? Why is Monty fading? Is this the Great Tribulation, the Campaign of Armageddon, and the Second Coming of the Messiah all those Christian kooks have been blabbing about? Is Uncle Monty ascending into the heavens to eat Gourmet Pringles with Jeezuss forever?"




Nope.
What's going on is the same thing that occurred in the documentary Back To The Future. He is fading just like the picture of the McFly clan. His future and our past is at stake. In order to stop his slow fade into non-existence, Monty has to create some of his patented, high-octane, off the Walt, awesome blog posts. Even half of the effort of what he's brought to the table already is enough to derail the ghost train. Mini-posts, a paragraph, dick-pics, ankle critiques; any of these will help. America's future is at risk.

For every day without a Monty's Baseball Soup post, the disintegration of his sweet soul will continue. I have conversed with the Ra on this matter


and he and I have devised a game plan that stops the atomic dispersion process. Every new post shall delay this tragic endgame for 3 days. After 3 days, the disbanding of Montgomery's matter will continue. Another post, another 3 days of being un-disappeared. This will go on until he is fully back in our realm, consulting the oracles of insanity and bloggin' bout it.


Honestly, does anybody want this to happen to America's Wisdom Grappler?

Poof! Dust...

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!


Write to and plead with him to stop this from happening. Tell him why you like reading the inner workings of his brains. His email is radbombz@yahoo.com. Not kidding. I'd tell you his address, but I've never been to his house, and I'm not sure if he has a residence. We meet at a pet store to discuss business, and he always wears the same clothes.

I don't want to lose you, buddy. Reach deep down into your heart and pop out some Internet comfort food for all to enjoy. Or else...

Having a toilet means never having to say you're sorry

This is a world of synchronized amazing. Watch and be a part of it.


This is what I see before I sleep, or leave the house.




I can't embed this link. Just follow and fear.

Miko Miko Nurse




More neurotic ranting to follow after tomorrow.

SWEET MONSTER CHRIST: Sequels, Bad Assery, Gothic Love Letters spawning from Don Knotts

(Reference) * joke(bool funny, int myDignity) + NIN^2 / Yamagata Eye = Not Him At Fucking ALL





On a more serious note. I've recently lost a family member and close friend. Friends, I've lost my Bacon.


Last Christmas, Auntie Nettles and her "Baby Boo"

My nephew was a sweet, salty slab of Pure American Bacon. In his first year alone he grew 15lbs! He loved slides, Go Fish, murder, and Adobe. Sadly we lost him in an excursion to The Mall Of Amurica. If you see him, we're offering a reward of 300 Licks. Fucking delicious.

Our publicist said we should include links to "Alternative Culture" so the MTV Nation would tune into our "blogoactioncity". So, um, here you go.
I guess.

• Gothic Match "Home of The Whopper"
  
• Goth Passions "Hello Kitty Barn and Emporium"
  
• Gothic Love Online "Online Personals For The Darth"

At least it MEANS something.



It's weird how the phrase "killing yourself to live" becomes strangely relevant in your mid-Twenties. When I realized these poorly written rants are my only current artistic project I'm pursuing. Then I thought about where my time goes, then I saw the opening screen of Guitar Hero and a single tear rolled down my cheek.

Cthulu-fucking Storytime!

I have never ever left a line at a grocery store. Ever. Tonight, this sacred creed was broken. I left the house with my chums to acquire a few sadness sandwiches to throw down my gullet to quell my ever increasing sense of dread. My naive mind unprepared for the impending madness I sought. I had to get change for a bill which was too large for a sandwich, my solution was to change it at the local foodslinger.

For minutes I was in a wonderland of food and excess! A beautiful world of soy bean oil and fake cheeses insisting on their pure cheesiness like a dairy Dorian Grey. I collected my treats and goodies in preparation for pure fat happiness.

In approaching the cashiers, my elation was subdued somewhat when I saw the scads of people seeking middle class food coma. When I noticed the 15 items or less sign, my heart leaped like a leopard! Oh happy day! I can acquire my good with little to no need to wait in the queue for long.
Then the everpresent fear of any urbanite... the Urban Harpy! A creature of such ferocity and hate, it must breed only with deciduous trees (they use the needles as belly armor).

She cut in my line with a bounty of good unsurpassed even by the great pantry's of CAESAR! Nay a word was said by the nearby foragers. Her indignant ruby eyes cowed even me in my frenzy. So we meekly awaited as she proudly assumed her position in line. My comrades grew weary of my foray. They sought me in line as I bowed my head in shame and they knew my dire position.

Cajoling me to exit my sacred positions, soon their words turned into a verbal will o' the wisps. I thought about my options, which were NONE! Their taunts and jeers had begun seeping into my fragile psyche. I started looking for a place to drop my goods like a Prom Mother seeks a nunnery. I began to sneak over to another register to drop off my goods. The demon taunts had poisoned my otherwise innocent mind. I walked slowly so as to not draw attention. Then I heard a clank which was my keys hitting my off-brand spaghetti-os. The people knew I had broken my vow. I left, cowed. I know now I should have done my duty. Now there are goods that belong to me in spirit, however I broke my vow. I left them alone.

When I'm by myself, EVERYTHING is Star Trek




So thats the end, today. I'm sorry there aren't more pictures to hide my writing. If I get enough complaints I'll put some pictures of sea creatures mating in there somewhere. Bye.

-Monty's Baseball Soup

HELLFIRE

I am Dan, AKA Monty's Baseball Soup. Let's make some tragedy!

Recently I've been obsessed with trading cards, and not the run of the mill Judeo-Christian Sport Cards or the loneliness inducing Collectible Trading Card Games (capitalized to emphasize sadness).

I just imagine objects immortalized by obsessive compulsive nerds with various stats and figures to make it look more "official".



This is Candlepants. I found this unfortunate son of a bitch in a dumpster at Denny's (Lenny's?, fuck I just started and my jokes are already old.) in Des Moines.


Streetfighter: Gay Til Guts



I found this old Commodore 64 and the only cart in it was "Future Backlash Cuntrusher". This is the opening screen.



On a lighter note, I'm having a teaparty and only he and I are invited.


This is why I wish I was a blind samurai.


-Monty's Baseball Soup