Gary Chambers and Elvis spotted in the AH
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rgraham666
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Who's Gary Chambers?
Why do I have the feeling I'm going to regret asking this question?
Why do I have the feeling I'm going to regret asking this question?
G
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shereads said:
Was Elvis wearing a sailor's hat?
rgraham666
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shereads said:
Carmen Miranda!? (Shudder)
shereads
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Virtual_Burlesque
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It was all the prescription drugs which made Elvis spotty. That had nothing to do with any food fight in the AH.
I don't know WHAT Gary Chambers excuse is
I never met him/her/it.
I don't know WHAT Gary Chambers excuse is
I never met him/her/it.
shereads
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Virtual_Burlesque said:I don't know WHAT Gary Chambers excuse is
I never met him/her/it.
Him used to be a regular here, and nearly always had something to say that was worth reading. He bowed out last year for work reasons, but has teased us TWICE now with single-post appearances. This time, I was hoping to give him as a present to Cantdog for philosophical discussions that I could watch. I can't believe I fell for it again, like Charlie Brown with that football that Lucy tricks him with every year.
This is the last time I agree to miss anybody who leaves the AH, or welcome them back. Much less, go to all the trouble of setting a trap, which required a permit for gods sake.
If he does step into it, I just might let the fur industry take him this time.
Virtual_Burlesque
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shereads said:
So, we tanned his hide
When he died, Clyde,
And that's it, a-hangin' on our shed.
Gary Chambers
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Good gweef! I wasn’t hiding. I was just doing other things. It’s certainly nice to be missed somewhere, however. Anywhere else it might warm the cockles of one’s heart, but at Literotica it heats up the ventricles of one’s cockle, which is more fun indeed.
I dropped in a few nights back to copy a link to send to a friend, and as I passed through the Author’s Hangout, of course, I found Shereads and said hello. Then I came back a few nights later just to see if she said hello back, and found this thread. I wish I could promise to make Literotica part of my daily routine again, but with all the will in the world, there just are not enough hours in a day to make it happen. All the kind words did encourage me to post another story, however. It’s in the pending file right now, destined for the BDSM section, a bit of departure from my usual romance and exhibitionist-voyeur haunts.
As for wit and philosophy, I’m afraid you have the wrong person. During my absence I was transformed into a necon and reborn soldier of the Chief Spook. It happened when I answered an ad to earn my doctorate, grow a ten inch willy, stock up on pain killers, bed a cheating housewife and remortgage Park Place -- all in less than a week. It was playing with that adulteress that changed me forever. Her husband came home unexpectedly, and I had to escape through a window into the woods, wrapped only in a white bed sheet. I was hiking through the forest, wondering if I would ever recover my shoes and favourite grey flannel drainpipes, when I happened into a secluded meadow. I was terrified at first because the meadow was full of people and it seemed certain I would be noticed and lynched as a pervert. I probably would have been discovered had it not been for the fact that all the other people were wearing white bed linen as well. They turned out to be a lot of fun. We spent hours roasting wieners over a big bonfire. I didn’t bring any hot dogs so I just warmed my new ten inch schlong by the fire. Being uncut no one noticed that I was cheating.
When the picnic ended a fleet of Humvees held together with ‘HONK IF YOU LOVE JESUS’ bumper stickers, carried us to Britney Spears’ house to see her collection of George W. Bush campaign buttons. By themselves the buttons would have been unimpressive, but Britney had engaged a Rodeo Drive designer to fashion them all into pasties, which she insisted on modeling for us while we emptied the beer from her fridge. Watching Britney Spears’ Republican dairy swing and sway completed my morphing into a neocon, and I felt so guilty afterwards I had to go to church and get reborn to save my tortured soul.
The adulteress still hasn’t returned my trousers or shoes, but it doesn’t matter because I’ve decided if you can’t beat the barefooted, hillbilly, assholes -- just join’em.
I dropped in a few nights back to copy a link to send to a friend, and as I passed through the Author’s Hangout, of course, I found Shereads and said hello. Then I came back a few nights later just to see if she said hello back, and found this thread. I wish I could promise to make Literotica part of my daily routine again, but with all the will in the world, there just are not enough hours in a day to make it happen. All the kind words did encourage me to post another story, however. It’s in the pending file right now, destined for the BDSM section, a bit of departure from my usual romance and exhibitionist-voyeur haunts.
As for wit and philosophy, I’m afraid you have the wrong person. During my absence I was transformed into a necon and reborn soldier of the Chief Spook. It happened when I answered an ad to earn my doctorate, grow a ten inch willy, stock up on pain killers, bed a cheating housewife and remortgage Park Place -- all in less than a week. It was playing with that adulteress that changed me forever. Her husband came home unexpectedly, and I had to escape through a window into the woods, wrapped only in a white bed sheet. I was hiking through the forest, wondering if I would ever recover my shoes and favourite grey flannel drainpipes, when I happened into a secluded meadow. I was terrified at first because the meadow was full of people and it seemed certain I would be noticed and lynched as a pervert. I probably would have been discovered had it not been for the fact that all the other people were wearing white bed linen as well. They turned out to be a lot of fun. We spent hours roasting wieners over a big bonfire. I didn’t bring any hot dogs so I just warmed my new ten inch schlong by the fire. Being uncut no one noticed that I was cheating.
When the picnic ended a fleet of Humvees held together with ‘HONK IF YOU LOVE JESUS’ bumper stickers, carried us to Britney Spears’ house to see her collection of George W. Bush campaign buttons. By themselves the buttons would have been unimpressive, but Britney had engaged a Rodeo Drive designer to fashion them all into pasties, which she insisted on modeling for us while we emptied the beer from her fridge. Watching Britney Spears’ Republican dairy swing and sway completed my morphing into a neocon, and I felt so guilty afterwards I had to go to church and get reborn to save my tortured soul.
The adulteress still hasn’t returned my trousers or shoes, but it doesn’t matter because I’ve decided if you can’t beat the barefooted, hillbilly, assholes -- just join’em.
Gary Chambers
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I work until witching hour so I have an excuse to be up at 3:30 AM. What's yours?
impressive
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Well, I'll say hello before you disappear again -- since we've never been properly introduced.
I'm Imp. Nice ta meetcha.
I'm Imp. Nice ta meetcha.
Gary Chambers
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Hello Imp. We will probably meet again soon. One more day in telephone hell, and I get some days off. I'll probably hang around a bit during those days off. Besides, Shereads has made it almost embarrassing to leave.
The truth is, I do miss spending time here. I tend to be impulsive, so it's entirely possible I may drop everything else for a while. Besides I have to update some things, check my Literotica mail, say hello to various others and check out the latest subs. I can't do it all tonight, so I really have to come back.
The truth is, I do miss spending time here. I tend to be impulsive, so it's entirely possible I may drop everything else for a while. Besides I have to update some things, check my Literotica mail, say hello to various others and check out the latest subs. I can't do it all tonight, so I really have to come back.
shereads
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Gary Chambers said:
It started as insomnia. Now it's mutated into a complete reversal of the wake/sleep cycle. At noon I'll wake up long enough to cancel a lunch date and let the dog out, then I'll sleep peacefully until 4 pm.
It's disturbing. I miss the sun.
Gary Chambers
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You and Gary Chambers will get along famously, assuming he doesn't disappear again. You're both Canadian, you both think before you type, and you both dislike Carmen Miranda. I think.
"We're Having A Heat Wave" happens to be one of my favourite tunes (though I'm not sure that's the correct title). I nearly froze to death when I was a kid. Songs about heat make me feel warm and fuzzy, and besides, how can you dislike a girl who sounds like a sports car? I know her tailpipe must be a bit rusty by now, but if she insisted you eat out you could chow down on her hairdo.
It was all the prescription drugs which made Elvis spotty. That had nothing to do with any food fight in the AH.
Drinking a bottle of Vitamin E horse supplement each day to save money on Cialis will make you spotty and eventually kill you. That's what happened to Elvis. We burried him in the garden uphill from the septic tank, of course, and allow Osama and Lord Lucan to bunk in the shed provided they keep Elvis' flowers watered.
...I just might let the fur industry take him this time.
You make a tincture of concentrated Rogaine and buzz up here to massage it into my hide. Then we'll auction off my body to the highest medical science or freak show bidder, and split the loot.
Cantdog has been hoping for some philosophical discussions. Maybe if you start one, Gary C will take the bait. You distract him while the rest of us attach the leg shackles.
Hey this is Literotica. I'm not buying that leg shackle routine. You're just trying to make it sound like fun. If I fell for that I'd probably end up locked in a decaying jungle compound, wearing a cock ring wired to a car battery. Anyway, this is the era of Mad King George. A philosopher is now a baker who makes baklava. The very best philosophers get hired to cook at the White House, provided they agree to serve the baklava with ketchup.
===========================
Pleased to meet you Rikaaim. I have no desire to shorten your name. In fact your determination to make your name into a concise statement of your mind set, reminds me of Manwoman.
http://www.manwoman.net/
"We're Having A Heat Wave" happens to be one of my favourite tunes (though I'm not sure that's the correct title). I nearly froze to death when I was a kid. Songs about heat make me feel warm and fuzzy, and besides, how can you dislike a girl who sounds like a sports car? I know her tailpipe must be a bit rusty by now, but if she insisted you eat out you could chow down on her hairdo.
It was all the prescription drugs which made Elvis spotty. That had nothing to do with any food fight in the AH.
Drinking a bottle of Vitamin E horse supplement each day to save money on Cialis will make you spotty and eventually kill you. That's what happened to Elvis. We burried him in the garden uphill from the septic tank, of course, and allow Osama and Lord Lucan to bunk in the shed provided they keep Elvis' flowers watered.
...I just might let the fur industry take him this time.
You make a tincture of concentrated Rogaine and buzz up here to massage it into my hide. Then we'll auction off my body to the highest medical science or freak show bidder, and split the loot.
Cantdog has been hoping for some philosophical discussions. Maybe if you start one, Gary C will take the bait. You distract him while the rest of us attach the leg shackles.
Hey this is Literotica. I'm not buying that leg shackle routine. You're just trying to make it sound like fun. If I fell for that I'd probably end up locked in a decaying jungle compound, wearing a cock ring wired to a car battery. Anyway, this is the era of Mad King George. A philosopher is now a baker who makes baklava. The very best philosophers get hired to cook at the White House, provided they agree to serve the baklava with ketchup.
===========================
Pleased to meet you Rikaaim. I have no desire to shorten your name. In fact your determination to make your name into a concise statement of your mind set, reminds me of Manwoman.
http://www.manwoman.net/
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