-how to make a julie character....will give it a try
http://www.pgholyfield.com/maah/

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http://www.pgholyfield.com/maah/

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http://www.pgholyfield.com/maah/

• http://www.chasingthebard.com/

-lol
http://www.pgholyfield.com/maah/

Mumo would crush her flat though!  hhhmmm...  maybe???? 

SynapticJam on Toast - hhhmmm... tastes like chicken (aka PUVJK)

bitstrip Junkie now, Treed?

I like them though. Very original. 

[1st Dutch junkie] All that matters is getting my fix.

I love your depiction of Julie Andrews....and to have her solicited by mumo --Brilliant!

Great stuff, treed

-LOL, at least she wouldn't pop like most of his dates
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-every evil mastermind needs a simpleton sidekick
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-i thought you'd be pleased, ya know, all in the service of the FDO........
lol
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Is being easily amused...  Treed is a happy man... 

SynapticJam on Toast - hhhmmm... tastes like chicken (aka PUVJK)

SynapticJam on Toast - hhhmmm... tastes like chicken (aka PUVJK)

You know you'd hit that! 

SynapticJam on Toast - hhhmmm... tastes like chicken (aka PUVJK)

-hehehehe
Jovial rotweiller, indeed................
http://www.pgholyfield.com/maah/

I went grocery shopping recently while not being altogether sure that said course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented "You're definitely going to mess yourself" chili. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point of being painful, which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you eat it the next day both of your butt cheeks WILL fall off. Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups of coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No "Watson's Movement 2". Despite habanera peppers swimming their way through my intestinal tract, I appeared to be unable to create the usual morning symphony referred to by my next door neighbors as thunder and lightning. Knowing that a time of reckoning had to come, yet not sure of when, I bravely set off for the market; a local Wal-Mart grocery store that I often haunt in search of tasty tidbits. Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart and began pushing it about dropping items in for purchase. It wasn't until I was at the opposite end of the store from he restrooms that the pain hit me. Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm referring to that "Uh oh, gotta go" pain that always seems to hit us at the wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different. The habaneras in the chili from the night before were staging a revolt. In a mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small intestines, forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one step in the direction of the restrooms which would bring sweet relief, it happened. The peppers fired warning shot. There I stood, alone in the spice and baking aisle, suddenly enveloped in a noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded. I was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me. Slowly, oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my body, and I began to move up the aisle and out of it, just as an elderly woman turned into it. I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what her reaction would be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate, as she walked into it unsuspecting. Have you ever been torn in two different directions emotionally? Here's what I mean, and I'm sure some of you at least will be able to relate. I could've warned that poor woman but didn't. I simply watched as she walked into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so terrible that all she could do before gathering her senses and running, was to stand there blinking and waving her arms about her head as though trying to ward off angry bees. This, of course , made me feel terrible, but then made me laugh. Mistake. Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard to keep things "clamped down", if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that someone was robbing the store and firing off a shotgun. Suddenly things were no longer funny. IT was coming, and I raced off through the store towards the restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying that I'd make it before the grand mal assplosion took place. Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began the inevitable "Oh my God", floating above the toilet seat because my butt is burning SO BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle of what is the true meaning of "Shock and Awe". He made a gagging sound, and disgustedly said, " Oh my God!", then quickly left. Once finished I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me and said, "Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to run the vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of the problem." That of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me. The employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, "IT'S YOU!" then ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not to return. Home again without having shopped, I realized that there was nothing to eat but leftover chili, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I went to shop at Albertson's. I can't say anymore about that because we are in court over the whole matter. They claim they're going to have to repaint the store.

-gawd, laughing so hard my stomach hurts and is cramping....
That, my friend, is hysterical...
http://www.pgholyfield.com/maah/

So I'm NOT the only one that's ever happend to! 

SynapticJam on Toast - hhhmmm... tastes like chicken (aka PUVJK)

You’ve all been there.   Most of you won’t admit it, but you’ve been there.  You’re at this dinner party at some couple’s house.  Who are they?  You have no idea, it was your wife that made you come, so here you are pretending to be interested in the “local” property taxes even though you live all the way across the cities in “another county.”  But you smile and make nicey nice just to keep the peace.

They feed you some horrible ethnic dish that your wife’s friend took off the internet.  It might have been pork, but you’re not really sure.  You’re polite and eat it all.  Why?  Because if you didn’t your wife would bitch at you for the next week and promise never to take you out again.  Although the never taking you out again may sound like a great idea, it’s the week’s worth of screaming at you that makes you choke it down.  Right away you realize you’ve made a big mistake.  You can feel the mystery dinner reacting with something in your stomach that you know “just ain’t right”.  They offer you another glass of wine.  “I’d like a beer actually” you think as you kindly take the proffered glass of wine and sip it.  The wine joins the horrible concoction that is turning your insides into mincemeat.  You think to yourself again “this really just ain’t right”.  So you excuse yourself and inquire where the bathroom is.  “Just down the hall, up the stairs, 2^nd door on the left”. 

At this time, you’re not sure if you can really make it.  Upstairs!  Who doesn’t have a bathroom on the main level of their home?  You inwardly curse your wife’s friend’s husband, even though you can’t even remember his name.  Tom, you think it was.  You manage to make it up the stairs and to the bathroom.  By now you know that if you don’t get to a toilet soon, you’ll blow a hole in your pants.  You fight the pressure as you calmly walk into the bathroom and close the door after which you rip at your belt buckle and shove your pants down like a wild beast barely making it to toilet.  The toilet seat was    ......  down thank God. 

Very few things are more internally satisfying than evacuating completely in situations such as this.  There is one thing I absolutely hate about diarrhea though.  Absolutely hate!  You have to wipe your whole ass.  All of it.  And as you pull massive handfuls of toilet paper off the roll, you realize, it’s not just over your whole ass, it’s all over the back of your legs and the whole toilet seat as well.  Wonder if they’d mind if you used their shower quick.  Nah.  Great! You now have to clean off your ass, your legs, and the seat as well.  And wouldn’t you just know it; you’ve run out of toilet paper.  You do that uncomfortable squatty duck walk thing over to the cupboard under the sink, your pants around your ankles, praying you’ll find more toilet paper.  I mean, you could use the tissues from the Kleenex box, but that never goes well does it?  Toilet paper?  Hallelujah!  You finish wiping both yourself and the toilet seat, thinking your ordeal is over. 

You flush the toilet, or more accurately, you attempt to flush the toilet.  Almost two whole roles of toilet paper will do that.  Now you’ve got to find a plunger!  You inwardly praise your wife’s friend, as she has a plunger right there by the toilet.  Not only that, she has a bottle of aerosol deodorizer too!  A few liberal sprays of that puppy and nobody will even know you’ve been there.  You finish cleaning up and join the others downstairs. 

The rest of the evening goes without incident as you chat about this and that.  You head for the door and freedom, hoping desperately, that nobody sees the shit-stain on the back of your pants and down your right pant leg. 

SynapticJam on Toast - hhhmmm... tastes like chicken (aka PUVJK)

-tee and the missing jersey
http://www.pgholyfield.com/maah/