My shield wasn’t the most stylish on the field, nor was it the most historically correct (Norse Viking). Despite its inferior design and aluminum metal, this accessory did provide superb protection against the foam swords and its light weight was nice.
THE MAN WHO’S SUPPOSED TO DRINK THE COFFEE IS A LIAR
I gave everything about the coffee five stars although I don’t drink coffee. It’s not Folger’s fault that the bastard for whom I bought the coffee stopped coming over to drink it because he’s mean and selfish and isn’t capable of being in a relationship. You know who you are. You said, “Yes, get the coffee. That will be great.” Then you didn’t show up. I fart in your general direction, Mr. Man. Now I’m stuck with all this coffee. So there’s that .…
I immediately inhale the powdery, intrusive pong of scented hemorrhoid cream, deodorizing balm for intractable leg ulcers, or Greco-Roman wrestler’s loincloth dipped in sour milk.
I picture a mincing Regency dandy giving his wig an extra dose of powder as an alternative to the monthly bath.
I am reminded of the aerosol cans mothers-in-law leave on the lavatory cistern to allow their dinner guests to cover whatsoever tracks they may otherwise have left.
I recall the stuff the barber soaks the comb in, between customers.
If I had to pick out a single feature of the overall aroma as being the most offensive, I think it would be Geranium-Lavender accord, which is perfectly titred so that the beauty of neither note can be discerned, but the combined chord is loud, intrusive, and ugly, like the Sandersons from Poughkeepsie arriving at your barbecue.
I suspect that the ‘nose’ (if I may hesitantly attribute such an organ to the creator of this travesty) was aiming at a fougere structure: the lavender, bergamot, moss, labdanum (cited as amber), and coumarin (cited as tonka) in the pyramid would certainly suggest this text-book intention. However, none of these notes meld in the heart of the fragrance. The colours separate out, as if printed with a misaligned cartridge.
In the dry-down, things only get worse. After 6 hours, I am dogged by a curly-sandwich stale, wedding-singer flat, wilted funeral flower, chewing-gum-on-the-pavement, polyester-shirted traffic-warden, geist.
No.
Just a solid microwave. You should ask yourself — do I need a microwave large enough to defrost a frozen ostrich? Do I need 2500 watts of power so that there’s a 3‑second margin of error between warming up my Dinty Moore and painting the walls of my microwave with it? When you reach a certain age, you start rethinking some things. I bought a luxury microwave and all I use it for is to reheat junk food that wasn’t that good the first time around. Yeah, Dennis, I do need to exercise more. But I’m also going to buy a smaller microwave and clear up some counter space for more fruit. This is that microwave, and I recommend it.
It is day 87 and the horses have accepted me as one of their own. I have grown to understand and respect their gentle ways. Now I question everything I thought I once knew and fear I am no longer capable of following through with my primary objective. I know that those who sent me will not relent. They will send others in my place… But we will be ready.
Witnessing a human being, a friend, a young gentleman with a wife and children being overtaken by the horror the wendigo spirit embodies is a terrifying thing. My hunting party had found itself stranded in the northern Rockies as winter fell back in 83, and we knew things would be grim, but watching Stevensen go mad like he did, running off into the tall pines, driven by hunger, the endless cold and snow, the isolation, to what we believed was his death nearly drove us to despair. However, when he started hunting us, when we saw O’Grady’s bones stripped of flesh in that clearing, with the gnaw marks of human teeth on them, when we saw him fall upon Clemens and begin ripping and tearing like a savage animal, it was beyond despair, beyond terror.
In the end there were only two of the ten of us left, just Giovanni and I, and putting the monster that was wearing Stevensen’s flesh down, like a rabid dog, remembering who he had been… I’m sorry, I cannot speak of this anymore.
Coney Island is a fragrance that tastes nothing like it smells. It is bitter, foul to the mouth. It also burns when applied to the eyes. I strongly advise against doing so, and instead recommend that it be sprayed upon skin or clothing, for its scent, or the marvelous sound the sprayer makes when it sprays.
So these are some great condoms right, but I’m just here to give you some life advice. I bought these back when I was in a relationship with someone way out of my league. I figured, after how long we had been together I should just start buying protection in bulk, right? So I buy sixty condoms and we keep getting it on for a while until she dumped me. Now I have a drawer by my bed full of completely superfluous condoms. They sit there mocking me as I drunkenly cradle myself to sleep, cold and alone in my pathetic excuse of an apartment. Great product though 10/10
I was wearing these shorts around the house when a few friends stopped by. We were all sitting around watching TV when I reached at a weird angle for the remote. The crotch seam pulled apart and my scrotum came spilling out right in front of my friends. This was pretty embarrassing. Picture not attached.