Dis be goin' ta hell in a handbasket, better buckle up...Originally Posted by pinchingyourballs
Dis be goin' ta hell in a handbasket, better buckle up...Originally Posted by pinchingyourballs
What, Me Worry?
Tasha emailed her boss at Walgreens, writing "Latecia: Hey girl. I be gone for a bit, sorry 'bout short notice, but I am off lookin' fo' love. Stay strong...,"
She didn't PM Mister V., given his earlier hostility; she'd rely on her Love Potion Number 9 to lure, trap and snare the elusive shyster.
Boarding the bus she instinctively sat in the back and started gnawing on some chicken while reading "How to Win at Bingo."
Thus enthralled she didn't notice when a burly white guy sat nearby.
Time passed, and with it she passed gas...a lot of gas.
Her farts were both tuneful and tasteful, causing the white guy to respond in kind, tone for tone: their eyes met and they blushed shyly.
Soon they were farting out a rousing rendition of the famed banjo riff from "Deliverance."
"Hi, my name is Adolph" said the man as he picked his nose and flicked the booger on the floor; he extended his hand, she shook it, and after wiping her hand off on her hideous handbag she introduced herself.
They chatted as the tube filled with animated, sentient meat motored across this vast continent, each amazed at how relaxed they felt in one another's company; by the time they reached the continental divide all thoughts of Mister V. had been banished from her mind: she now set her cap on nabbing Adolph.
As fate would have it, Adolph was a degenerate Bingo player who had heard that there was great success to be had playing at the Chinook Winds Casino on the Oregon coast; "I'm heading there to make my fame and fortune."
Tasha made a bold play and lied: "Wow, so am I. What a coincidence."
They chatted amiably until night fell; she allowed Adolph to kiss her, then fondle her breast: it was a new sensation for Tasha and she tingled.
The bus deposited them in Portland; they hitch hiked to Lincoln City, planning to beat the savages at their own Bingo game, hope and greed blinding them as is often the case with people of their ilk.
While walking through the casino Tasha espied a tall white man in a maroon flaming dice shirt: it was Mister V, playing Red, White and Blue in the high limit room, the one with an image of a moving whale at its entrance.
Just as Mister V. selected his $200 bet denomination Tasha approached from behind; she planned to surprise him with a "Guess Who?" game but she tripped over a discarded banana peel and lunged forward, her hand hitting "PLAY."
Bells rang, lights flashed...JACKPOT!
A started Mister V. pushed the interloper away and said "What the fuck lady, are you drunk?"
Before she could answer the casino staff came by, examined the machine and said "Be right back."
Ten minutes later a group of suits came by holding a huge wad of cash...it was a $200K jackpot.
Mister V. smiled and turned to receive his winnings but was shocked when they counted it out and gave it to Tasha, saying "You hit the PLAY button, lady, so it is YOUR jackpot."
Enraged, Mister V. angrily pushed Tasha away from him, unaware that she'd wrapped her foot inside the stool: she careened over and screamed "My leg is broken!"
Adolph had been watching this and the sound of the snapping bone coupled to the sight of it jutting out of her leg triggered him; he smacked Mister V. upside the head and it was soon "Game on."
The two bulls quickly tired and glared at one another; it was then that Tasha got out her bottle of Love Potion Number Nine and doused the lips of each combatant with a few drops, thinking "I came this far, let's see what happens, what have I got to lose? I mean, Adoph is nice but hey, this is Mister V and he's a rich, handsome devil... Decisions, decisions."
All hell broke loose.
The instantly sex-crazed victims of witchcraft espied the nearest woman, Tasha, and without another word they stripped her and simultaneously mounted her, swtiching from hole to hole, orifice to orifice; the end result was that by the time the effects of the elixir wore off Tasha was a quaking mass of jelly, fading fast.
Her final thought was "Shit, I never got to play Bingo."
Last edited by MisterV; 08-11-2024 at 02:36 PM.
What, Me Worry?
Security put the quasi-liquid, tattered, ragged and dragged remains of Tasha in a wheelbarrow and pushed her out of the casino across the sand and into the ocean, giving her a "burial at sea."
The casino manager, Chief Makum-Big-Wampum, approached Adolph and Mister V. dressed in full tribal regalia, jauntily wearing his head dress while wielding his war tomahawk.
"Ugh. Pale faces cause 'm big trouble, but is OK: other gamblers like watching. If do again we comp you big time with booze, food, rooms and of course squaws. Next time use this...." he said as he handed the tomahawk to Mister V.
Adolph and Mister V. were stunned and tuckered out after their unexpected exposure to Love Potion Number 9: neither gentleman had a clue as to what happened, but they didn't really mind because they had both enjoyed it immensely, letting their libido run wild.
Mister V. scooped up the $200K and locked it in the trunk of his old Volvo; he then asked Adolph to join him in toking a bowl of killer dope.
While puffing a triple bowl they soon realized that both were regular posters at VCT; they gossiped, agreed to flame each other in the future, shook hands and went back into that den of pestilence because as we all know, "Luck happens."
Meanwhile mammie waited in vain, mop in hand, for her daughter to return; she finally concluded "''Dat gal, she be gone: good riddance."
Good riddance indeed!
Last edited by MisterV; 08-12-2024 at 11:39 AM.
What, Me Worry?
Without Tasha, I hope that it doesn't go the way of the "Kung Fu: The Legend Continues" series.Originally Posted by MisterVDis be goin' ta hell in a handbasket, better buckle up...Originally Posted by pinchingyourballs
Interestingly, the time of the video above, at 3:33, ---> 333, but, the number of comments at its page is only 81 = 3*3*3*3 ---> 3333, with the last comment there, too, at about 7 months ago, at about 7*30 days --->37. Ie, without the balance of the 3's, with 7's, in my last post above, at https://vegascasinotalk.com/forum/sh...l=1#post182287
For the number of comments, see youtube.com/watch?v=maVUgq5UvgE
Last edited by MHF; 08-12-2024 at 05:26 PM.
The spirit of Tasha permeates this thread; bad writing will NEVER die...Originally Posted by MHF
Cake Cream bows after singing their big hit...
Last edited by MisterV; 08-12-2024 at 07:12 PM.
What, Me Worry?
Chone Wilson was excited for his first day of class at the Kewldawg Academy of Casino Carpet Design. Ever since he was a young boy accompanying his mother to the casino (dressed as a middle aged midget to skirt the age rules) he had been fascinated by the garish, busy, hideous designs that looked like a magical unicorn had projectile diarrhea'ed a bloody rainbow all over the floor. He wanted to be a part of that elite team who created these enchanting carpets.
His first class of the day was Clashing Colors 101, after which he would need to head straight to the lab section of the course Bad Tessellations. He looked around the bustling campus full of high functioning autistics like himself heading to their various classes. As he was taking in the scene, a woman bumped into him and made Chone drop his books, just like a scene in a cheesy movie.
"Oh! Excuse me, let me help you pick those up," the woman offered. Chone looked at her approvingly. Yes, some day she could be my wife, he mused.
"M'name's Chone, Chone Wilson."
"And my name is Karice, Karice Kentry."
"So where are you going?" Chone asked the pretty student, hoping she would say Clashing Colors 101.
"I need to get to Boz Hall for my first class, it's Floral Hell 101. I'm really excited to learn how to make floral patterns so hideous even God would cry. See my handbag? I made it out of reclaimed casino carpet I found at the landfill."
Chone admired the handbag. This girl's got talent, he mused, she may even be my greatest rival for casino carpet design domination.
"Well, see ya around, Chone." And with that the girl ran off toward Boz Hall. Chone blushed shyly. Today was off to a great start.
kewlJ: My mother has read some of this forum. Probably more that I know. The only thing she has ever said to me about it is to ask why I continue to post here, which happens to be the same exact thing almost all of the decent people I have any association with ask me. And I am out if answers.
also kewlJ: I remain on this forum, for one reason only now....my own entertainment.
Chone sauntered into his class and sat down in the nearest empty seat by the door. The student in the next seat leaned over toward Chone and introduced himself.
"My name's Half-Smoke, you know, _________?_________ but also ________?________."
"Could you repeat that?" Chone replied. He couldn't make heads or tails of this fellow's odd manner of communication.
"You see, it's ________?________ and ________?_________. I've got ________?_________. Ya dig?" the odd fellow mumbled in a way that more resembled the buzzing of a bee than human speech.
"OK," Chone said, in a graceful exit of this short but excruciating conversation. Suddenly he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see a man who was tattooed from crown to finger tips in a casino carpet pattern. Chone admired the man's dedication to the cause. The tattooed man introduced himself:
"My name is Redblush Dietz. I got this tattoo so people can't tell when I'm blushing shyly. I turn red as a beet when it happens. By the way, I need your mailing address."
"What?" Chone asked, startled by the abruptness and inappropriateness of the request.
"How else am I going to mail you a copy of my credit score, dum dum?" Redblush replied.
"Uh, yeah, no thanks," Chone demurred, and turned back around to face the front of the class. What a bunch of fucking weirdos he mused. Finally, the professor showed up and started class.
"Good morning, I am Dr. Vividbright, your professor of clashing colors. You can call me Dr. V. Let's get right to it and discuss the assigned reading you all should have done over the summer."
Oh boy, Chone thought. In excitement he farted a wee egg toot that filled the small classroom. He made sure not to give away the fact the he could smell its heady aroma, because whoever smelt it dealt it.
kewlJ: My mother has read some of this forum. Probably more that I know. The only thing she has ever said to me about it is to ask why I continue to post here, which happens to be the same exact thing almost all of the decent people I have any association with ask me. And I am out if answers.
also kewlJ: I remain on this forum, for one reason only now....my own entertainment.
Dr. V began his oration with an admonition.
"Now, I want to tell whichever one of you wannabe casino carpet-design moguls that it WAS NOT OK for one of you to shit on the remnant of hideous casino carpet I use as a welcome mat outside my office."
With that he glared at the soporific slugs at their seats...all were cringing except for one student, a black woman who resembled that Huxtable woman on The Cosby Show who munched on a leg of fried chicken while posting images of same on Tik Tok.
"Excuse me, lady...yeah, you, the one with the hideous handbag...what the hell do you think you're doing, eating chicken during my lecture?"
"Oh Dr. V y'all needs ta 'scuse me but it be my comfort chicken; de gypsy told me to eat it alla time, dat it help keep me from doin' de bad t'ings."
"Bad things? What sort of bad things?"
"Well Dr. V evah since I be a chile I has to shit de flo;. Dey lock me up fo' dat and de gypsy doctor she say to eats dis comfort chicken, so here I is."
She munched away and offered a breast (the chicken's...not hers) to Chone, who gladly accepted; he thanked her, she welcomed him and they shook hands.
"Oh fuck me" thought the coked-out educator, "one of these handicapped motherfuckers to deal with; where's my Xanax?"
"Well now with that out of the way are we ready to get to work?"
The class tooted their agreement, and the new semester began, not with the blast of manly butt gas he preferred but via a series of slithering, odorless squeakers: a very bad omen indeed.
Last edited by MisterV; 08-13-2024 at 11:50 AM.
What, Me Worry?
It's a forum of KJ still writing long letters to Druff, I guess about how to run the forum, and, in general, of a few other miserable stragglers, who post fewer and fewer times.Originally Posted by MisterVThe spirit of Tasha permeates this thread; bad writing will NEVER die... .Originally Posted by MHF
Be glad for the memories of the Glen, and the others, except for the Wizard's forum. Whatever this one was, it didn't make it.
what "chone" means...
https://greensdictofslang.com/entry/cyzkhyy
What, Me Worry?
Halfway through the semester, Professor V. announced that he was opening a section of his special topics class, whose subject would delve into optimal color schemes for concealing shit, vomit, and blood stains while still bearing some semblance to a traditional casino carpet pattern. The last time Professor V had opened a section of special topics, the subject matter was faux-Indigenous geometric patterns and how they were simultaneously a cheap mockery of Native culture but also a good pattern for concealing food stains. That class had included a special field trip to the Chinook Winds Casino to observe the phenomenon in the wild. Professor V. generally only admitted upperclassmen, but was known to admit promising freshman and sophomore students at the Kewldawg Academy. Chone Wilson hoped Professor V. would look favorably on his academic record and give Chone a chance to prove himself.
Chone had recently written a term paper on the topic of beige floral elements and how they could mimic jizz stains. He emailed a copy of his paper to the haughty professor. After several days, Professor V. replied.
Cohen, I mean Enoch, I can see you have a lot of enthusiasm for both the aesthetic and functional aspects of casino carpet design. While busy designs are excellent at covering the stains and sins of humanity, we must not forget that their dizzying clash of colors and irritating asymmetries also serve to nauseate customers and thereby increase customers' chances of vomiting. These vomit stains in turn become part of the pattern which further induces yet more vomiting and voiding of the bowels. And so the art of casino carpet design is not just about isolated functionalities, but rather creating a living cycle of vomit and shit. Keep this fundamental truth in mind as you advance in your studies. Also, the special topics section is full but maybe next year.
Toodle-Loo,
Professor Vividbright
Kewldawg Academy of Casino Carpet Design
he/him/el
kewlJ: My mother has read some of this forum. Probably more that I know. The only thing she has ever said to me about it is to ask why I continue to post here, which happens to be the same exact thing almost all of the decent people I have any association with ask me. And I am out if answers.
also kewlJ: I remain on this forum, for one reason only now....my own entertainment.
Fascinating posts, you guys. Keep up the good work.
You know, two V's is better than in one, in that that's a "double u", as in "u guys".
And, oh, my, still no anagrams with gematria from me.
Today, 04:50 AM#1392
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Time flew by for Chôné Wilsøn at the KACCD and before he knew it, it was already the second semester. He had passed all his classes the previous semester, including the notoriously difficult weed out course Clashing Colors 101. Professor V had written glowing remarks on Chôné Wilsøn's final term paper and had suggested that Chôné add accent marks to his name to create mystique.
This semester he would be taking his hardest class yet, Mismatched Curvature and Irregular Swirls, a math intensive class that would cover one of the most bewildering aspects of casino carpet design: why don't the fucking curves align properly? Chôné was nervous because he had forgotten much about parametric curves and how to construct involutes and evolutes of plane curves defined by implicit equations. Then a lightbulb went off in his head. It's all about mismatched and imperfect curves, he mused, therefore my forgetting multivariate calculus will be an asset. Armed with this exciting revelation, he made his way toward Boz Hall where the class was about to start.
Boz Hall was a dilapidated structure named after T. H. E. Boz who had made a name for himself voiding his bowels and stomach on all of the best casino carpets. As one of the great APs (Anal Prostitutes) he died with $9699690 to his name and bequeathed it all to KACCD. Chôné got a seat in the nick of time. To his astonishment, the girl seated in front of him was none other than Karice Kentry, whom he had secretly fallen in love with but who did not know it.
The professor strode into class with an air of confidence and a menacing look on his face. Uh oh, Chôné mused, I heard the rumors about this guy but I never thought I would have him as a professor so soon in my casino carpet design journey.
"Good morning class! I am the illustrious Dr. Martin H. Fartin and I will be your instructor this semester. I must warn you that everything you think you know about mathematics and the mathematical and geometric properties of parametric equation-defined plane curves is all wrong. Everything you think you know about so-called "mismatched" curves is wrong. I am here to tell you that not only are all the curves you see on hideous casino carpets indeed matched, but that all curves on all casino carpets on Earth are part of one unified master curve. This is the unified theory of everything that will either uplift your soul to the highest planes of enlightenment, or grind it into dust." And with that, the arrogant professor let loose a flatulent blast that ruffled the pages of his notes.
Oh boy, here we go, Chôné mused.
kewlJ: My mother has read some of this forum. Probably more that I know. The only thing she has ever said to me about it is to ask why I continue to post here, which happens to be the same exact thing almost all of the decent people I have any association with ask me. And I am out if answers.
also kewlJ: I remain on this forum, for one reason only now....my own entertainment.
Dr. Fartin imparted new learning with ease, his suave, Canadian style was perfect for the task: the soon-to-be casino carpet pros were in awe of his brilliance, his delivery, but mostly his clothing and accessories.
As it happened the Carpet King was festooned in a cloak made from the hide and fur of a polar bear which had made the mistake of eating his pet llama back home; his pants were crafted from two matching blue whale penises and his boots from the skin of dead Aleuts (yes, he was brilliant but an inveterate racist).
While exiting class after a particularly rousing demonstration of clashing colors and psychotic patterning Karice bumped into Chone again.
"'Scuse me" she said.
"No...not unless you buy me a coffee and let me tickle your fancy."
She did, and he did, and they were soon an item: in addition to building the beast with two backs they formed a study group with Tasha, another student with creative juices and a solid record of casino carpet design.
While they were studyng in the school's library Tasha passed gas, blushed, then said "I takes me a white rug and 'den I eats lots a chicken and some Mexican food, 'den I shits on de carpet on de flo', den I pisses on it den I breaks dance on it. Beautiful, eh?"
Chone then realized that she was talking about the carpet in the library they were studying in: he thought it was magnificent, the epitome of modern casino carpet design.
"I is havin' my period today, I wants to add blood to de mix...wanna watch?
Oh yeah, he wanted to watch.
They ubered to Tasha's loft, a large room over the local Church's Chicken franchise, and soon she'd completed what went on to be her Ultimate Masterpiece; eventually it was bought by Bellagio and installed in the lobby: it has received more acclaim and raves than Dale Chihuly's overhead glass artwork.
Chone was inspired: he wondered "What can I create with cum?"
He embarked on the road to find out...with a "helping hand" from Karice...
Last edited by MisterV; 08-14-2024 at 10:33 AM.
What, Me Worry?
Try as he might, Chone could not create anything worth keeping via the rattlesnake shake.
As time progressed Karice noticed that her wrist was getting bigger and stronger, a result she did not welcome.
They ate lunch at an Indian buffet then topped it off with DQ blizzards; enroute home they decided to try again.
Chone laid out the white carpet on the floor then Karice stroked his zither for ten minutes without result: "I feel sick" moaned Chone.
He hurled all over the carpet; while all the colors of the rainbow were in evidence there was no harmonic design.
"Fuck it, let's smoke a bowl and do some shots:" soon both were totally fucked up, but in a good way.
"Let's dance" suggested Karice; Chone was a bit reluctant, so she urged him on: "I'll teach you to shuffle."
She showed him how:
A quick study, they were soon shuffling like mad, higher than kites, happier than clams.
Upon awakening the next morning they realized they'd shuffled atop the vomit-covered carpet.
Chone stared, and stared..."Karice, am I still high or does this look good?"
Karice espied the splattered canvas and smiled: "You've finally done it, Chone...a true masterpiece."
They brought the carpet to class to show Dr. Fartin.
"Hmmmm" he mulled..."Very interesting. I note the bold use of contrasting color aside the flamboyant excess of swirls and curlycues: very nice, very chic: in fact I love it."
Chone blushed, thanked Dr. Fartin and was welcomed.
Chone said "I've finally arrived" while Karice breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that her wrist will grow no bigger; " But what about my lips, will they grow bigger now?" she wondered.
Once again the sage advice her mother gave her many years ago rang true: "A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do;" how true that is.
Last edited by MisterV; 08-14-2024 at 04:28 PM.
What, Me Worry?
Originally Posted by pinchingyourballsBut, yes, of course, those "patterns" have to do with the One- theory of everything. See the "Einstein tile (one-stone tile)", from the following posts.
https://vegascasinotalk.com/forum/sh...l=1#post162629
https://anagram-solver.net/Giftees%2....?partial=true <---
https://vegascasinotalk.com/forum/sh...l=1#post162662
Today, 04:48 PM#1396
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Originally Posted by pinchingyourballs
Last edited by MHF; 08-14-2024 at 06:05 PM.
On second thought, that was quite a prophetic touch, in the last line of the third link above. The 777 on a slot machine, and, with the 222 as the sevens inverted.
And, with the post above at #1396, in the thread. As in the 13th line of the second link above, to do with the Einstein tile, and, the 96 to go with the 69 above.Originally Posted by Gottlob1
Amazingly, my post immediately after the two above, too, has to do with time-travel into the past. I guess, to get also the 72 into things with the 69.
https://vegascasinotalk.com/forum/sh...l=1#post182504
With Tasha continuing to "imposter" herself.
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kewlJ: My mother has read some of this forum. Probably more that I know. The only thing she has ever said to me about it is to ask why I continue to post here, which happens to be the same exact thing almost all of the decent people I have any association with ask me. And I am out if answers.
also kewlJ: I remain on this forum, for one reason only now....my own entertainment.
Several years passed and Chôné Wilsøn, Karice Kentry, Tasha Fartin, and many other had finally graduated from KACCD. Tasha had moved up in the world and was married to Professor Fartin with whom she collaborated on casino carpet inspired fashion. Chôné Wilsøn had transitioned to the business side of things. Karice had expanded her mind to include the study of casino hotel drapery and why it always had to be some variant of beige. She won a MacArthur Genius Grant to study the effects of switching casino carpet patterns and hotel drapery colors. The four of them often had dinner together, meals full of lively discussion about the current state of casino carpet design. The future was looking bright for the gang.
One day when Chôné Wilsøn and Karice were at home with their young son, Nathan Vividbright Wilsøn, there came a knock at their door. Their butler opened it and nearly fainted when he saw present day lesbian looking Axl Rose accompanied by a very attractive 1986 Axl Rose.
"Sir, Madam, current year Axl Rose and a time traveling 1986 Axl Rose are here and request an audience."
Chôné and Karice greeted their visitors, shook hands, thanked, welcomed (in both senses), and shook hands again with their guests. The Axls wasted no time in explaining what they had come for.
"We live in the top floor of the James L. Knight Center, whose carpet has not been updated in over 100 years. As you know, the James L. Knight Center was built a thousand years ago by the indigenous inhabitants of present day Miami. Although it is not a casino, our carpet has been imbued with enough shit, vomit, and blood to make it into a living tapestry much like a casino carpet. But now it smells and looks hideous. We have studied your work and would like the two of you to collaborate on a new carpet for our luxurious penthouse suite."
Chôné and Karice told the Axls they would think it over. When the Axls left, Chôné said to his wife, "You know, I think this project is too big for just the two of us, let's loop in Tasha, Martin, and our old Professor V."
"But babe, Professor V. hasn't been seen in over two years when he abandoned academia to go live in the Arctic. Nobody knows if he is even still alive!"
"I have an idea," Chôné replied.
kewlJ: My mother has read some of this forum. Probably more that I know. The only thing she has ever said to me about it is to ask why I continue to post here, which happens to be the same exact thing almost all of the decent people I have any association with ask me. And I am out if answers.
also kewlJ: I remain on this forum, for one reason only now....my own entertainment.
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