An entry for Tim and Eric's video contest. If this is DJ DOUGGPOUND, know that we've got plenty of damn candy bars. I don't believe in bribery or anything, but let's say one of us is very willing to "get chocolatey" with you, and his name is Mr. Snickers. Just imagine that nutty flavor stick probing every inch of your man-cave, and you'll find yourself in possession of another vision--Eric and Marilyn, partyin' so damn hardy down in Vegas with Tam and Yorick (we live in Pasadena, CA). Also, and this is just shameless self-promotion, go check out some of our other classics if our Rolo video filled up your colostomy bag. You will laugh with the gilded mirth of dying children at our cornucipia of bemusements!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dbh4HfKostw
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhBCowvwXq0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_D9dDmvMUh8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SllG2Vbe944
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9xk1B1LWIy0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IS_bOER6h_Q
This isn't just a contest, this is a metaphysical awakening for you. Every cell of your being will enlarge with the power of a million smiling ancient children. Your heart will implode into a sublime vision of Rodney King being beaten by pandas, and your genitalia will feel such stimulation that pornography will become a light bulb in the sunshine. You think a man as effulgent as me doesn't know what it means to slap a train? I've seen things, my friend, I've purchased chocolate. You think just because you peed in a soda bottle, you're the man to teach the world how to use Microsoft Word? You and your punchdrunk theories...you sit on top of your mushroom mountain, and toss down tablets of antiquated values like gold coins upon us paupers-- and we have to gurgle your bottle of Newman's Own salad dressing while doing a Texas two-step on the newspaper like a sandblasted cocker spaniel. Well, I'm sickened by your prostate examinations, I just can't watch the footage anymore. Go ahead, psychologically molest all the kitty cats you want, we're all too familiar with your Arabic "needs." My God, this sick sexual Gravitron ride you call Sir Galahad's country cooking. Well, something smells pungeant in the kitchen, but at this Cracker Barrell the only thing on the menu is a hot bowl of Boutrous-Boutrous Ghali, and I think somebody forgot to rewind this fuckin' videotape. Patronize me will you, swab my flabs of fat with cotton balls will you, well you've got another thing bustin' out of your pumpkin patch, and it's a family size bottle of Drain-o that I'm not prepared to make a speech to, I just don't have my papers on me. If I had my graphs, I could show you just where this stink bomb's gonna drop, and the location is right up inside that shit, damn. That bitch's so fly, she could catch an Adirondack chair with a Farce of the Penguins DVD as a thought vortex. I swung a marmet around my face until the bees talked me into shooting that baby, and at Night Court I got my ass chewed like crime-flavored bubblegum. "Boop boop boop be doop" is the sound of the New Flatulence, which is why it doesn't surprise me that the Yohimbine infusion rotted off your prosthetics. I'm trying to say that I really want to win this contest, but for some reason it just
comes out wrong.
I love you
Tags: rolo tony brown town tim eric awesome show sugar candy tigiris euphrates 9/11 red hot chili peppers fats mojimbi tigers
