I like that urban legend. It's up there with Washington not telling a lie and the female orgasm.Quote:
Originally Posted by dave is ok
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I like that urban legend. It's up there with Washington not telling a lie and the female orgasm.Quote:
Originally Posted by dave is ok
What the fucking fuck is going on here?
FWIW I like the artists on TNL, and I like the work they do, except for ShinMyk, that guy can't draw for shit, and I think he's a closet black.
Go tell your fat wife to get on the treadmill you Mickey Mouse loving faggot
brb telling her to stop eating.
But... she's eating for TWO!!!
Could have fooled me, that pig acts like she's eating for a varsity football team.
She's making sure she has enough energy to handle the varsity football team.
Which she does. Expertly.
Is there a pool for who scored the touchdown?
There's a pool alright. Poor Chux has to lay in it every night.
Hero had no trouble finishing the commissioned artwork of Max Eisenhardt, more commonly referred to as Magneto. As he stared at the completed drawing his mind flitted back to the exact moment the request had come through: the sudden butterflies in his stomach, the perfect image that had appeared in his mind's eye instantly, as if it had always existed. Now, duplicated in perfect detail in front of him, it still gave off that same feeling of energy and life he had felt that first day; a vibrancy betraying the drawing's inanimate construction and transforming it into so much more.
Hero had to sit down.
In the drawing, Max was laying down on a beach chair, enjoying a warm summer day on a lush coast in the Savage Land. He was a strikingly handsome man even in his late 40s, his body chiseled into near perfection through hardships endured in a painful, tragic past. Rivulets of perspiration wound their way around his muscles, bulging even in this relaxed state, drawing a suggestive road map of masculine anatomy leading towards the red and purple Speedo he wore, leaving nothing to the imagination. His white hair, wind-tousled and wild, crowned his head like a lion's mane. A curled lock rested lazily above his right eye... The eyes! The eyes had been his master work, Hero thought. They were, above all else, what made this drawing just so damn... What? Real?
Standing up, Hero quickly dispelled the notion with a forced chuckle. Why had he been wasting so much time sitting here, staring at a completed drawing? He had a lot more work to do if his dream of owning a new, retail copy of a video game would ever come true. As he turned to leave, he noticed a blur of sudden motion from his periphery. A mix of excitement and fear seemed to root him in place. He didn't know how long he had stood there (seconds? minutes?) before a warm, gravelly voice broke his paralysis.
"I couldn't help but notice you've been looking at me," it said.
Want to read more? Pay up, fuckers!