lovelyburger.comLovely Burger
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Title:Lovely Burger
Description:echo " "; echo " "; echo " "; Comments Site Log in Burger is the child of the man. -- » S I D E B A R « § Authors evelyn maryburgers tfrancis § Categories Burger Burger Concert Burger Crap Burger
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lovelyburger.com |
HomePage size: | 105.429 KB |
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173.236.224.236 |
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New Dream Network LLC |
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United States |
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Brea |
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33.930221557617 |
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echo " "; echo " "; echo " "; Comments Site Log in Burger is the child of the man. -- » S I D E B A R « § Authors evelyn maryburgers tfrancis § Categories Burger Burger Concert Burger Crap Burger Cuisine Burger Literary Burger Movie Burger Music Burger Reviews § Tags 0 burgers 1 burger 2 burgers 3 burgers 4 burgers 5 burgers american star amy adams anne hathaway brad pitt burger travesty chicken chinese country darren aronofsky dessert diner doritos drama dual review entries that mention a fight with mary evan rachel wood food gross guest burger horror jake gyllenhaal kids mexican mickey rourke natalie portman no burger review old people food phil burgers pho xe lua viet thai pizza red robin remake sean penn six burgers tea tree of life vegetarian/vegan waffles water ice § Recent Comments Logo by HARVEYJAMES , 2009 Wayne Junction Shop Garbage Can Twinkie by Burger Lagosi Nov 18th, 2015 by maryburgers [Ed. note: I'm really not into the beginning part with the misogynoir etc. Lovelyburger does not endorse white people talking about twerking.] By R. A. Bellosi. AKA Burger Lagosi Lesser Used Monickers: Vanilla ICE burger, tadalafil Ed Burgerly Jr. Like a fallen star, shop there it laid precariously amongst the rubbish: beaming, prescription the confection majesty of the Hostess Twinkie. Perhaps it was my plummeting blood sugar but that golden, cream-centered son of a bitch was actually shinning, shining like bling-bling chingy-chingy. Apparitions of Music video hip-hop hoes twerk and toss glitter from their thong-clad asses, producing a beautiful halo of fluorescent metal shavings and booty perspiration at 300 frames per second. Nearby, sir mixes a lot uses a bottomless Slurpee cup as a funnel to spray dem bitches from an open fire hydrant. An obese beat falls like darkness. “Don no what ya missin’ -ing sprayin’ that ass and makin’ it glisten -ing, anaconda fodder make(ing) ‘em holla cant take ya for lobster less Donald’s puts ‘em up for a dollah… Uh”. Again, I attribute the fantastic mirage to low blood sugar, a spot of mustard or a bit of undigested beef… A commencement of digression is swift and tailored. Some misguided or careless soul had tossed the Hostess flagship into the shop garbage can. It was partially in its cellophane and its oils partially hydrogenated — positioned just so: eluding the greasy, nasty doo-doo butter rags and tobacco spit bottles that populate the can. I surveyed my surroundings for signs of hidden cameras or other candid shenanigans. The coast was clear. Time and space melted around us, the Twinkie and I. My pants began to fit tighter. I reached carefully into the bin, my wrist a spelunkers precise descent to the golden and cum-filled pastry. I gingerly grasped the Precious and carefully raised it from its filth-riddled nesting. Somewhere between a lobby toy crane game and the metal contacts evasion of the Operation game, I excavated my treasure. For a moment I stand stoically lit in silhouette. I beheld the Precious and brushed phantom debris from its packaging and blew invisible particles from the cake surface in alternating gestures. I delighted in the crinkle-crinkle of the packaging. I marveled at the graphics and design. I examined the nutritional table and ingredients manifest.. Oh, my; such long-winded polysyllabism, Lord Whimsy would blush. I don’t recognize many of these words. It reads similarly to a can of Edge shaving gel. I took a twinky-twinky whiff. It smells vaguely of hand soap. My mouth salivated and pants grew snugger still. I slowly raised the cake to my mouth and closed my eyes in reciprocation with its approach. I take a modest bite which immediately ignites my olfactory senses and prompts a successive liberal chomp. My teeth collapse the fluffy yeast labored pockets of yellow #5 laden cake. Quasi vanilla paste contrasts, then compliments and ultimately integrates the mash. My pupils dilate fully. I chew in wide sweeping chews like a cow on cud. A warm tingle cascades up and down my arms as my pulse quickens. The fluffy cake regresses to batter and spittle kneading over hedonistic gums and teeth. The room becomes increasingly hot, too hot for comfort and perhaps even TV. I open my eyes to see my familiar work place inexplicably transformed into a cramped boiler room-like hallway with bleeding walls. Hisses of steam and random machinery are audible over the roar of adrenaline borne blood pressure pounding in my ears. A pair of red glowing orbs manifest through a curtain of steam followed by a spry mouth of piranha teeth festooned with webbings of thick saliva. Fight or flight yields to paralysis by fear. A bulbous alcohol addled red nose rests between the eyes and teeth. Thick tufts of orange bushy hair jut perpendicular to the horrible pale face. I am tackled, Screaming and thrashing, I am clawed and stripped. Screaming and thrashing — mauled and eviscerated… The clown eats my penis. 18974 out of 90210 burgers. No Comments » Cuisine Burger “Tree of Life” and Indian Delite at Market East by Dr. Mary Burgers Jun 14th, 2011 by maryburgers Tree of Life dir. Terrence Malick The Tree of Life is a CGI comedy romp starring Sean Penn as Loci the Talking Raptor and Brad Pitt as a strict navy officer. They form an unlikely bond after another raptor (played by you) intervenes on their fight over the significance or insignificance of all events in life, clinic which is displayed through a contrast between present day events and the creation of all life and time. You resolve it with laughter, try song, salve and an hour long perfume commercial, directed by Calvin Klein, complete with the principal actors whispering abstract narratives over flashes of sun-dappled imagery. You lucky raptor you, you are there to bear witness to every event, every event that has ever happened in all of time: you watch the original mitochondrion merging with a cell, you are there running with your brothers through cornfields in Texas, you witness a plesiosaur bleeding into prehistoric waters. Each of these events is handled with equal weight by Malick’s camera. The merging of hands at a funeral is as big and vivid as a piece of earth breaking off and creating a magma-fall. You are always looking up with Malick, up at stained glass spiral ceilings in a church, up at the tops of trees blooming in spring, up at your red-headed strong-willed mother who never thought she would have a life revolving around four boys. She whispers delicate entreaties to God, and soon her oldest son does the same. It seems stilted and precocious when he asks why God let a young boy die, but it becomes more meaningful as you see him ask the same questions of his father. Though the mother opens the movie by saying the weather will always find a reason to be unhappy, the entire movie is vibrant, all sticky southern summer nights, no grayness or rain, just fields and rivers and rope-swings. Enough about you, Mr. CGI Raptor. Back to me. I considered it a great compliment to the movie that, after I exited the theater disoriented and crying, an older woman came up to me and asked about the single most important plot detail. She had missed the first ten minutes of the movie, and still thought it was spectacular. I would really like to see it again, but next time allow myself to fall asleep more often. It is not a boring movie. Every shot of every scene is careful and deliberate and beautiful. But it feels like fragments of memories you might see before you fall asleep, and to go in and out of those dreamlike states seems to be as valid and true a way of watching it as enduring it straight through. 6 out of 6 burgers I stumbled out of the movie theater wishing I could die right then and there but somehow managed to get myself on the EL and back to Market East Station. And I was hungry. INDIAN DELITE: MARKET EAST STATION non-vegetarian curry platter like $10 with a mango lassi For some reason I was like “No, it is not a bad idea at all to get food court Indian food!” I ...
lovelyburger.com Whois
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