allthumbs

how the hell did we go from gnawing off an arm to fucking religion? jeez, you choads are pickled

fuk off and die cum guzzlin commie

if ya don't look and think like me you can't be trusted simple and effective

Well hell Dwayner, we all knew Sphincter was Sex.Cocoa Where ya been all spring?

and his swiss army knife

Colorado Climber Amputates Own Arm Friday, May 02, 2003 MOAB, Utah — A Colorado (search) climber amputated his own arm Thursday, five days after becoming pinned by a boulder, and he was hiking to safety when he was spotted by searchers, authorities said. Aron Ralston, 27, of Aspen, was in serious condition late Thursday at a hospital in Grand Junction, Colo. Ralston was climbing Saturday in Blue John Canyon (search), adjacent to Canyonlands National Park (search) in far southwestern Utah, when a 200-pound boulder fell on him, pinning his right arm, authorities said. He ran out of water on Tuesday and on Thursday morning, he decided that his survival required drastic action. Using his pocketknife, he amputated his arm below the elbow and applied a tourniquet and administered first aid. He then rigged anchors, fixed a rope and rappelled to the canyon floor. He hiked downstream and was spotted about 3 p.m. by a Utah Public Safety Helicopter. The search for Ralston had begun the same morning, after authorities were notified he was four days overdue reporting for work. Ralston was described by authorities as an avid outdoorsman in exceptional physical condition. They said he was known to have climbed 49 of Colorado's major peaks.

I could not agree more. Better dead than RED. You can have my gun when you pry it from my cold dead fingers. Gun Control is being able to hit the target. Fuckin hippies and liberals. scum sucking commie anti-american pigs. i'll have em skewered on a roasting stick over my bon fire and feed their sizzled guts to my hounds, opps, sorry Erik....i mean feed them to Erik's used up wimmin.

I said light beer ya goofball.

Serious issue here. Garage cleaning weekend coming up. I'm ripping everything off the shelves and walls and breaking out the airless sprayer for a new coat of paint and then building some new shelves to organize everything. I had a huge pantry between my laundry room and the garage so I split the difference and made room for a little shop in the garage but never finished up the sheetrock. It's time and i need to make room to move my ski-boat inside. Heres the question. What kind of beer should I be drinking? I need to keep it light so I can stay motivated. I'm thinking Corona. It sure is nice to know I have a place to come to for this kind of help. trask

die, commie socialist dogs!!!! god bless america - love it or leave it you pinko fags

fuk em, they're commies

have it your way loser hasta

you going to france? traitor there will be no more sex with trask if that's the case!

fuck 'em all. nuke the stinkpile

Remember this one? Below is an article written by Rick Reilly for Sports Illustrated. He details his experiences when given the opportunity to fly in an F-14 Tomcat,very amusing. Now this message for America's most famous athletes: Someday you may be invited to fly in the back-seat of one of your country's most powerful fighter jets. Many of you already have - John Elway, John Stockton, Tiger Woods to name a few. If you get this opportunity, let me urge you, with the greatest sincerity. Move to Guam. Change your name. Fake your own death. Whatever you do, do not go. I know. The U.S. Navy invited me to try it. I was thrilled. I was pumped. I was toast! I should've known when they told me my pilot would be Chip (Biff) King of Fighter Squadron 213 at Naval Air Station Oceana inVirginia Beach. Whatever you're thinking a Top Gun named Chip (Biff) King looks like, triple it. He's about six-foot, tan, ice-blue eyes, wavy surfer hair, finger-crippling handshake-the kind of man who wrestles dyspeptic alligators in his leisure time. If you see this man, run the other way. Fast. Biff King was born to fly. His father, Jack King, was for years the voice of NASA missions. ("T-minus 15 seconds and counting...." Remember?) Chip would charge neighborhood kids a quarter each to hear his dad. Jack would wake up from naps surrounded by nine-year-olds waiting for him to say, "We have a liftoff." Biff was to fly me in an F-14D Tomcat, a ridiculously powerful $60 million weapon with as much thrust as weight. I was worried about getting airsick, so the night before the flight I asked Biff if there was something I should eat the next morning. "Bananas," he said. "For the potassium?" I asked. "No," Biff said, "because they taste about the same coming up as they do going down." The next morning, out on the tarmac, I had on my flight suit with my name sewn over the left breast. (No call sign-like Crash or Sticky or Leadfoot-but, still, very cool.) I carried my helmet in the crook of my arm, as Biff had instructed. A fighter pilot named Psycho gave me a safety briefing and then fastened me into my ejection seat, which, when employed, would "egress" me out of the plane at such a velocity that I would be immediately knocked unconscious. Just as I was thinking about aborting the flight, the canopy closed over me, and Biff gave the ground crew a thumbs-up. In minutes we were firing nose up at 600 mph. We leveled out and then canopy-rolled over another F-14. Those 20 minutes were the rush of my life. Unfortunately, the ride lasted 80. It was like being on the roller coaster at Six Flags Over Hell. Only without rails. We did barrel rolls, sap rolls, loops, yanks and banks. We dived, rose and dived again, sometimes with a vertical velocity of 10,000 feet per minute. We chased another F-14, and it chased us. We broke the speed of sound. Sea was sky and sky was sea. Flying at 200 feet we did 90-degree turns at 550 mph, creating a G force of 6.5, which is to say I felt as if 6.5 times my body weight was smashing against me. And I egressed the bananas. I egressed the pizza from the night before. And the lunch before that. I egressed a box of Milk Duds from the sixth grade. I made Linda Blair look polite. Because of the G's, I was egressing stuff that did not even want to be egressed. I went through not one airsick bag, but two. Biff said I passed out. Twice. I was coated in sweat. At one point, as we were coming in upside down in a banked curve on a mock bombing target and the G's were flattening me like a tortilla and I was in and out of consciousness, I realized I was the first person in history to throw down. I used to know cool. Cool was Elway throwing a touchdown pass, or Norman making a five-iron bite. But now I really know cool. Cool is guys like Biff, men with cast-iron stomachs and Freon nerves. I wouldn't go up there again for Derek Jeter's black book, but I'm glad Biff does every day, and for less money per year than a rookie reliever makes in a home stand. A week later, when the spins finally stopped, Biff called. He said he and the fighters had the perfect call sign for me. Said he'd send it on a patch for my flight suit. What is it? I asked. "Two Bags."

fuck the french

Father O'Malley rose from his bed. It was a fine spring day in his new Washington, DC parish. He walked to the window of his bedroom to get a deep breath of the beautiful day outside. He then noticed there was a jackass lying dead in the middle of his front lawn. He promptly called the US Senate for assistance. The conversation went like this: "Good morning. This is your Senator. How might I help you?" "And the best of the day te yerself. This is Father O'Malley at St.Brigid's. There's a jackass lying dead in me front lawn. Would ye be so kind as to send a couple o' yer lads to take care of the matter?" The Senator, considering himself to be quite a wit, replied with a smirk, "Well now father, it was always my impression that you people took care of last rites!" There was dead silence on the line for a long moment. Father O'Malley then replied: "Aye, that's certainly true, but we are also obliged to notify the next of kin."

i'm outta here right now cum guzzlers. suka, i'll fuk her for ya and give you hjer # morrow....latah suckas

erik, anika wants you to call her. said you knew the 'happy dance'

i'm sittin' here tonight poundin' down a butt-load of Henrys and jammin' to the "best of the stones" and waz thinkin'.......if i was married the lil' woman would be yellin'. "turn it down!!!!" which i would for connubial bliss and all....but deep down i'd be thinkin'. " that fuckin' bitch made me turn down my muZic' an' not only that but she won't put out since we had the KID. Phuck....BLOW JOB??? are you ShiTTTing me???? those phukers went the way of the Edsel. hehehehe So anywayZ, I'm outta here and am hittin' the RoadHouse, for more schooners and hopefully some sno. county heffers...wish me luck BoyZ!!!! latah, trask

climbers are gay bon apitit mutha fuckers

Clearly you haven't had a run-in with a Ring-Tail cat. I haven't. Do they have those in the mountains? I thought they were mostly down by the Mexican border. I don't think I would count those as snaffles either, related to raccoons aren't they? Anybody who's ever bivied on Dinner Ledge has probably gotten well aquainted with the ringtail hey charlie, you ole' cum guzzler...how goes the battle?

ain' no daddy here sugar, 'cept for yo daddy trask an' he know how to make like Mr. Chesterfield, an' satisfy

I water skied today...twas awesome Early beach party at trasks - say in a couple weeks on a hot weekend. Bring brews, drugs, neked wimmin and some 'tude. PM GregW and Erik for details and directions. I'll provide the boat and gas.

scott sux butt rot