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Dalton's TD move


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23 minutes ago, BengalszoneBilly said:

It was his third TD of the game? I'm just guessing.

here is embrassing part, i never notice him do this, but my friend said he see it all time, my brother said same thing and he thought i know about this lol

that mean I LOVE YOU in AMERICAN SIGN LANGUAGE, my friend was wondering if he did that because he have deaf family member somewhere.

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5 minutes ago, HoosierCat said:

Clearly it's Andy indicating that it's way past time for another METAL OFF!



Any metal head rocking out in a Napoleon Dynamite T-shirt is okay in my book.

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5 hours ago, ArmyBengal said:
41 minutes ago, ArmyBengal said:

"Wear a smile on my face, but there's a demon inside"

Ever feel like lyrics were written just for you ??

It's a modified "Devils Horn".

Typically there are only two fingers, which indicates the supposed horns of the devil.

This particular "modified" showing indicates love alright.  OF SATAN !!!



Have you considered counseling Army?  The anger is oozing from your pores!

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11 minutes ago, ArmyBengal said:


Ever feel like lyrics were written just for you ??


Yes.  Like when its my birthday and my family sings happy birthday to me.  


One reason these fellows in Five Finger Death Punch are so annoyed with the world is that one guy with the red jersey is a Nebraska fan.  


Also yes there is a demon inside me.  His name is Frank Guanciale, he worked at the Roper stove plant in Newark, Ohio, until 1968.  That is a picture of him below, he is on the right, this was taken when the last stove was made at the Roper stove plant.  After this, they continued on just making lawn mowers, though.  Frank was completely pissed about having to make lawn mowers, as he felt he was a stove  man, well above such things as lawn mowers.  Then, in 1972, Frank retired from Roper.  "Retired," right.  More like got pushed out the door.  For reasons that are unclear to me, Frank Guanciale entered my body as a demon just a few weeks after he retired, and he has been inside me ever since.  

Sometimes he's quite active, other times I won't hear from him for weeks.  I'll tell you one thing, if you need your mid 1940s - late 1960s stove repaired, I'm your guy.  Once in college I was at a house party, it's like midnight or something.  The guy who rented the house goes, "this stupid old stove doesn't work."  I pull the control panel out, and I go, "it's obviously the range fuse, you need an 8.6 kilowatt, 60 Hertz, 120 to 208 Volts fuse."  The guy was like, "what the fuck?"  To top it off I was drunk off my ass.  Who knows. 

Anyway, I've only touched a lawnmower once in my life.  I tried to mow the lawn right after I got married,and I got like one pass down the side yard and I'm doubled over vomiting.  My wife comes running out of the house, she's all in a panic.  I'm on my hands and knees barfing.  I go, "I think Frank's pissed!"  I had to spit that out between bouts of projectile bile spewing.  She's like, "Ok, hurry up, go inside and play some Dean Martin for him!"  He loves Dean Martin.  So I go inside, put on "That's Amore," and I felt better in a few minutes.  If he gets out of control (1994 when I bashed in the aluminum siding I was trying to repair, 2003 when I tore our medicine cabinet off the wall because we were out of Alka Seltzer), you just have to put on Dean Martin's "Everybody Loves Somebody."  I don't know what happened in Frank's life regarding that song, but it calms him down every time.  

I'm not proud of it, but I haven't done the dishes in 20 years.  I hated doing them.  So one night back then I'm helping in the kitchen and I just sort of sunk down to my knees.  I did a little shaking, sort of like a fake little seizure.  I wasn't even that committed to the whole thing, just winging it.  My wife goes, "Oh no, are you ok?"  I said, "I think Frank must hate doing the dishes or something!  I love helping out, but I feel super sick.  I could barf!"  She fell for it.  Next thing I know I'm in the living room with a Miller Lite listening to "You're Nobody 'Till Somebody Loves You."  I haven't even cleared the table since then.  Like i said, I'm not proud of it.  But you might as well have demonic possession work for you.  

Not saying I'm controlled by my demon or anything.  Sure, he tries to get his way sometimes.  I can usually just ignore him.  If he's really insistent, I can usually just reason with him.  All I know is one day after work I had to stop at a different store than the Giant Eagle I usually go to.  So I went to the old A & P, this crappy little old grocery store no one uses.  On my way home I drove on Messimer Avenue, a street I'm never on.  So I'm driving on Messimer Avenue, and the name Maria Abbascia starts going through my head.  Like pounding through my head.  I start seeing visions of a beautiful woman.  I'm actually getting completely horny for Maria Abbascia, who, before this time I've never met or even heard of.  So I'm driving and the 2nd to last house on Messimer, there on the mailbox in big letters, "Abbascia."  Frank forces me to pull into the driveway.  Ok, sometimes he's not exactly forcing me, I just go along with his shit for the hell of it.  So I ring the bell and this nice little old lady answers the door.  I go, "Maria Abbascia?"  She says, "yes, and you are?"  I say, "I'm a very close friend of Frank Guanciale."  She goes, "Oh.  Do come in please."

So I'm in the house, sitting on her plastic-covered couch, which by this time might be the last plastic-covered couch in America.  She asks me a few things about how I knew Frank, if I knew her late husband, blah blah blah.  All this time, Frank's in my head, he's going, "fuck her now.  Look at those tits.  Jesus fucking christ, get her on her back now you simpering little faggot."  I'm saying things like, "Oh, he spoke very highly of you Mrs. Abbascia," crap like that.

Then out of the blue, and I'm not sure why I said it, I just said, "Did you enjoy the English garden at the Miller Street library, Mrs. Abbascia?"  She sort of flinched, then a small smile, then she kind of exhales.  "Well.  You were a close friend of Frank's, weren't you?"

By now the demon inside me is like, "That's fucking it!  We've got her!"  All you have to do is pick her up.  She likes to be picked up and carried.  Go get her, Tiger!"

I'm like, "Are you fucking kidding me?  She's an old lady.  Jesus Christ, I don't think I could do it even if I wanted to.  No way, and I mean no ***damn way!" 

I told Mrs. Abbascia that indeed I had been a close friend of Frank's, and that as such I would love to catch up sometime, but that I had to be going, thanks so much for the hospitality.  That whole thing kicked Frank into a spiral of depression.  I didn't hear from him for a couple months.  Hell, it affected me.  I was tired all the time, didn't feel like going to work, all that depression stuff.  Finally like 3 months later, I'm laying in bed beside my wife, we just got done doing it.  I'm chilling out, just laying there breathing.  Out of the blue, Frank goes, "That's what you call fucking?  Holy shit, I don't care if she is 88 years old, Maria would've had you blathering gibberish for an hour."

Frank has a way with words like that.  





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Don't even test me....

but have it your way: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yjb0j9l1sz4


Your little story is really funny. honestly, you have quite a talent with words but you will lose every METAL OFF.

If the flesh on your face does not peel off from the guitar solo, starting at 2;15, then we can talk. You and Frank better bring something more than some stoner band on your comeback. Waiting...

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