
Sandpaper Handjob: Rum 'n Tea, if ya please

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We think these bugs are fucking.


Zero That's how many times we've had to sit through an Indians loss in the last two weeks. Bar Patios + Women - Baseball = A Pleasant Summer So Far

Zero

That's how many times we've had to sit through an Indians loss in the last two weeks. Bar Patios + Women - Baseball = A Pleasant Summer So Far

Father's Day notes from the Boss

Sunday, June 21, 2009 5:45 PM

Happy Father's Day, everybody. Well, Happy Father's Day to those of you who know your fathers. The rest of you can call the POTUS and cry together. It's business as usual in the Old North compound, although some Captain and Raspberry Lipton sounds absolutely delicious. What's a drink or ten on a Sunday with weather so hot that dogs and old people are afraid of getting locked in the car with the windows rolled up?

Some observations on the back side of a Stoli-filled breakfast:

This is what happens when you ride your bike into a parked car and go through the windshield and you tell the EMT to save his ambulance ride for someone else, then find yourself with a bit of a nosebleed later in the week:

The gays were out in full force yesterday for Columbus Homo Day 2009, or whatever the hell they call it. We don't mind the queers; in fact, lesbians love us. We, in turn, love them right back. That being said, homosexuals fear nothing. We base this on the number of HIV factories we saw crossing North High Street without looking both ways, or looking both ways and expecting cars, trucks, and ghetto trains to stop while they slowly crossed in their relaxed way. Kinda like dem corner boys that cross North Forth Street during rush in the summer with that relaxed dip in dey step, one hand on their balls and the other on a chirp or a Black 'n Mild.

(Note to the faggot in the Speedo: We don't care that you like to take big black dick up your ass, but we do think you're a fucking douche for walking around in public with a Speedo on. We keep our cock and balls put away. You should kindly do the same.

We had a date the other night. Well, not really, but we'll call it a date if it's alright with you. (It's not like you losers have anything going on, judging by the stupid emails you've sent the last two weeks.) Near the end of the night, we were attacked by these things that kinda look like ants with wings. They're not ants, but they suck big time, simple and drawn to light like your mother's drawn to our t'aint--or taint if you would prefer.

This is not the first time we've been ganged up on by these bastards, who shall now be referred to as Ohio Cocksucker Bugs until one of our ten visitors writes in and tells us what the fuck they're called. The picture below was taken at an ATM during those dreaded hours when the bars no longer want you and the wife's still too pissed off to let you in the house.

Sam Cooke makes us want to take dancing lessons, since his shit makes us want to dance and the Mattress is the only dance we've ever learned to the point of being able to fake it.

As the YouTube bubble gets ready to burst and ejaculate red ink and lawsuits all over teh Internets, it gets harder to find original tracks, namely anything we want to listen to repeatedly while jacked up on a line while Roach Dog looks on in horror, wondering why she couldn't live with Perry and Amber and Kilo.

We did manage to find a very decent mix of Chain Gang to share with you. Produced by DJ Ozyboy, it's a Latino Mix, at least according to the title. That makes us think of latinas with blackened eyes making tortillas while their husbands tinker with low riders and fight each other with broken bottles and butterfly knives in towns like Fresno and El Paso. Enjoy.

Sandpaper Handjob turns two this September, so we thought it was time to bring shit into modern times, or at least something close to the way things were back in 2004. We will be making some changes that are none of your fucking business, but if you must know, fine.

-Many of you (um, four people) asked for a return to the black background. We'll see.
-We hope to add features that will allow you losers to leave comments and insult one another with questions of sexual preference and groundless accusations involving mothers and black men with foot long cocks.
-Expect more shitty fiction, including the story of Annie Kamikaze. She's just dreamy, and will be by long before September. Perhaps this Wednesday night. -Dr. Cruz will return with new advice. We'll also dig through the first year of the site and put the best of that shit up, too. Think of a Greatest Hits album from a band like Europe, or a band that likes playing songs by Europe.

Um, yeah. We're shooting for September 1, which means maybe next Spring. We're on Soul Time, baby, and it's all good. When the shit gets done, we hope to provide a more organized way of sharing The Truth as we guide you through Retard Land. In the meantime, thanks to all forty or fifty of you for your support, especially those of you who feed us bourbon and rum and homegrown dope just for making you chuckle once in ten or twenty visits. Here's to ya.

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Father's Day notes from the Boss

Sunday, June 21, 2009 5:45 PM

Sandpaper Handjob:
Rum 'n Tea, if ya please