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1002 Things To Do With a bobbyburns

"Waiter, would you please get the bobbyburns? There are crumbs all over the table."

"But ma'am, isn't that overkill?"
 
Bumper Sticker

bobbyburns bumperstickers:

MY OTHER COUCH IS BOBBYBURNS



FREE BOBBYBURNS
(special rebate offer)

obscure Irish humor
 
"Bartender, I'll have a bobbyburns, please."

"Rocks or straight up, sweetie?"

"Um, er, one of each?"



2 parts Yukon Jack
1 part Old Spice
mist of maraschino cherry juice
garnish with a twist of brown leather


The secret to long curly eyelashes.
 
That's a brilliant idea, Wab.

Lay the bobbyburns liberally around a festive platter. Pour yellow processed cheese food over the whole thing. Sprinkle with pickled jalepenos and a can of vile mystery sauce. Nucleate until oozy.

Smells like football season (big tough shoulder-pad butt-patting American football, that is.)


NB: Old Spice is a very interesting mixer. Sort of like Jaegermeister and Goldshlager with a touch of nutmeg and a smattering of musk.
 
oooooooohhhhhh scary cursing :eek:

Hey! I've got one . . ..


Trapped inside the bobbyburns
Is a tender soul that forever yearns
To make at least what he thinks he earns,
And so inside his breakfast churns
While in his gut ambition burns
Though that might just be the curry.
 
“Guinevere, have you seen my padded doublet, the one with the randy-apes-and-bananas pattern?”

“It’s in my bottom drawer, Lancelot hon. Next to the whip.”

Opens drawer.

(Aside) “Oh, well, hmmmm . . . there seems to be a bobbyburns in here under the staunch bodice corsets. Wonder how that got there? I could sure use that out slaying the dragon today.”

“Lance, where are you going with my objet d’art? I treasure that item.”

“Darling, this is a man’s toy. Not for little girls. Now help me off with this chain mail and give me a backscratch.”

Exuent.
 
Solutions introuvables aux problemes simples
Part Three​

"Ouvrez la fenetre, for chrissakes. Somebody left the bobbyburns in the Toast-r-Oven and it's charred!"

"Just put bloody Marmite all over it. Nobody will notice."



Now, do you see a rat feces in here? No, sir. This is a FECES-FREE ZONE! bleep bleep bleep
 
this is, quite honestly, my favorite forum on this entire site. i have laughed my ass off again and again. too funny
:D
 
Gizmo said:
What are you talking all about?
What the hell is a bobbyburn???
I think I don't get it! :confused:


Ah, Gizmo my dear, you have struck right at the heart of the matter! What IS a bobbyburns???

Indeed, I have wondered that many times myself, and have concluded, after much deliberation, that a bobbyburns is all things to many people and certain things to a few people. But not like God. Not like cheese. Sort of like a . . um . . GIZMO! Except perhaps a little more frayed at the edges, with a vaguely sour smell around the top and a lumpish look in the center. And there's something rumpled and undone about the whole thing. The flavor is somewhere between three-day-old salmon pate and newly mown grass. Pungent and fresh yet somehow revolting in an appealing modern way.

But make of it what you will. I wouldn't BE without one.
 
World News


Old Nowhere, NY--Doris Hunch was charged today with beating a possum to a pulp with the blunt end of an unlicensed bobbyburns.

“I ain’t regretting it,” says Hunch. “They’s devil pets. Like giant rats. That critter looked it me ‘n I just grabbed what was to hand.” Apparently Hunch was using the bobbyburns to make a macrame doily when the possum disturbed her thoughts.

“I likes to keep ma hands busy,” she says. “That’s a heavy instrument. Give me more power than I needed, I guess. You wouldn’t know it was a possum after I hit it.”

A law banning the use of unlicensed bobbyburns for hunting and killing furry animals is under discussion.
 
Ahab’s 43rd Dream

Lashed to a bar of soap by strands of hair, Ahab spun round and round in a counterclockwise direction in the swirling bathwater, hovering over the cavernous sucking drain. He reached for his harpoon, but found in his hand an old worn bobbyburns, with which he uselessly poked the edge of the soap. It was soft as butter and slippery, probably Ivory. Certainly not the hard-milled luxury soap of France. A drop of water went up his nose and he howled against fate, the sound echoing off the pink bathroom tile.
 
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