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Khei's Crappy Live Journal
A peek into the life of a tortured artist.. really she is!
Playstation dropkicks and Butterball Turkeys What do they have in Common?... 
4th-Feb-2006 10:21 pm
Spooky Khei
One word.. or name rather

Booray

On a whim I searched the net for "Booray" and found the wild and crazy comic genius that used to be a Radio DJ on a local Station, KHITS, here. It's a bummer that he's not DJing anymore but he seems to have found a new niche in Web Design.

Check out his shiny site

Booray.net

And has a sort of Nostalga for us locals who miss listening to Booray in the morning aroudn here.. Here's some of the gags I nabbed from Booray's old website while he was DJing out here...



*******
5 Signs You Had Too Much Fun New Year's Eve

You don't know where your car is....or your pants.

You wake up, cough...and silly string shoots out of your nose.

You turn on the stove and your breath catches fire.

You receive an e-mail from "Hot_Naked_Babes.com" thanking you for the great pictures.

You don't know how that noise-maker got there... but you haven't been able to sit down since 1999.


******
Ten Simple Rules for Dating My Daughter

Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a
package, because you're sure not picking anything up.

Rule Two:
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her,
so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot
keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.

Rule Three:
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age
to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off
their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your
friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about
this issue, so I propose his compromise: You may come to the door with
your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not
object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in
fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will
take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to
your waist.

Rule Four:
I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without
utilizing a "barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate,
when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

Rule Five:
It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each
other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day.
Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an
indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and
the only word I need from you on this subject is "early."

Rule Six:
I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities
to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with
my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl,
you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If
you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven:
As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to
appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want
to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is
putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the
Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do
something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight:
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my
daughter:
Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a
wooden stool.
Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns
within eyesight.
Places where there is darkness.
Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness.
Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to
wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a
sweater, and a goose down parka - zipped up to her throat.
Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which
features chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are
better.

Rule Nine:
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged,
dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the
all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where
you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the
whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel,
and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.

Rule Ten:
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake
the sound of your car in the driveway versus a chopper coming in over a
rice paddy near Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in
my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to
bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should
exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter
password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home
safely and early, then return to your car - there is no need for
you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.

******
20 Ways To Annoy Your Public Restroom Stallmate

Stick your open palm under the stall wall and ask your neighbor, May I borrow a highlighter?

Say, Uh oh, I knew I shouldn’t have put my lips on that.

Cheer and clap loudly every time somebody breaks the silence with a bodily function noise.

Say, "Damn, this water's cold!"

Drop a marble and say, "Oh sh*t, my glass eye!!"

Say, "Hmm, I've never seen that color before,. . ."

Grunt and strain real loud for 30 seconds and then drop a cantelope into the toilet bowl from a height of 6 feet. Sigh relaxingly

Say, Now, how did that get there?

Say, "Humus. Reminds me of humus."

Fill up a large flask with Mountain Dew. Squirt it erratically under the stall walls of your neighbors while yelling, Whoa! Easy boy!

Say, "Interesting,. . . more floaters than sinkers."

Using a small squeeze tube, spread peanut butter on a wad of toilet paper and drop the wad under the stall wall of your neighbor. Then say, Whoops, could you kick that back over here please?

Say, "C'mon Mr. Happy!! Don't fall asleep on me!!"

Fill a balloon with creamed corn. Rush into the stall with your hand over your mouth and let out a lengthy vomit impression while you squeeze the balloon and splatter cream corn all about. Apologize profusely and blame it on the fettucine alfredo you had for breakfast

Say, "Boy, that sure looks like a maggot!!"

Say, Damn, I knew that drain hole was a little too small. Now what am I gonna do?

Play a well known drum cadence over and over again on your butt cheeks.

Before you unroll toilet paper, conspicuously lay down your, Cross-Dressers Anonymous newsletter on the floor visible to the adjacent stall.

Lower a small mirror underneath the stall wall, adjust it so you can see your neighbor and say, Peek-a-boo!

Drop a D-cup bra on the floor under the stall wall and sing, "Born Free."
Comments 
8th-Feb-2006 04:56 pm (UTC)
>_>.... LOL!

now THAT's funny.

"The camouflaged face at the window is mine." LOL!
21st-Jul-2006 06:09 pm (UTC) - That guy ROCKED!
Anonymous
The only thing more pathetic than writing an entire post about some has-been DJ is a has-been DJ who googles his own name and finds the post, thus enabling him to hold on to the past for ONE MORE DAY!

Booray
www.boolog.com
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