I might be the only guy you know who liked the Stuart Smally movie. Still, though Al’s travails leaves more meat for the homos.
Breakfast Barge
Salsa
Brown Trout
Bully Braised Beef
Roughage
TDT Reverse Seared Ribeye
Porterhouse
Prime Rib
Coffee
Bon appetite los animales!
Thank you for the NO Porterhouse click thru – well done…..
Please also post a pic of Salsa’s box or her asshole – I need it to complete a set.
Thanks!
sunset in sarasota….a porterhouse story
she sits in joy on the beach with her lover over a romantic repast. pleasure fully canted like an Apollo 13 astronaut, the back legs of the unfortunate beach chair pounded into the sand like long ago railroad spikes driven by neglected chinamen…..its peaceful, quiet, with only the sound of 10 licked fingers scissoring and bulldozing a fried grouper Ruben sandwich between unhinged mandibles…
patrolling above, a seagull notes the couple below and his trained eyes see a french fry neglected, but not forgotten, between pink size 12 crocs and a Hardees bag…
the gull sets his wings for attack, locks on the fried detritus and dives…
crash landing into the sand, wings fluttering, shrieking the gull grabs his delectable bounty….her lover, a man of color, yells “BAT!” and runs inland away from the perceived dangers of the bird and the real danger of the water….
fry in beak, the bird, adjusts his position for wind and takes off over the water at low altitude, full of pride with thoughts of a well-earned dinner
but at his 6, rocking back and forth for leverage, a blonde mass of white lace explodes from her cockpit chair, kool cigarettes and a Samsung V thrown caught in the exhaust wash of boxed wine, coppertone and horseradish sauce…with one hind leg thrust in front of the next she barrels into the surf, the percussion of aluminum rings permanently placed on swollen fingers that grasp for the tail are drawn out by a string of expletives and the faraway sounds of “…bat” heard in the distance….
the bird turns over his shoulder, incredulous as he does the math and realizes no more effort is required to outrun this misplaced predator
quickly realizing the bird sees this as a game and finding her stamina and fine motor skills lacking she slaps both hands together in a thunderclap of applause, reserved only for hibachi chefs who flick pieces of shrimp to her as Elwood fed Jake..
and as the paws converge, in that amazing nanosecond, the bird resigns himself to his last sunset, his last french fry….. and the inevitable boom clap of a Randy Johnson fastball hitting bone, feathers floating into the sea, a poof of talcum powder, and then nothingness.
but the french fry, oh yes the french fry survives, pureed against the palm of the victor standing in the surf, this Yeti of Poseidon has won! …and the palm is drawn to the mouth…and a lap of a course tongue that could take the green off a confederate statue brings her satisfying nourishment…
and she turns to the camera, white lace drenched in the salts of sweat and ocean…satisfied…and smiles
Was in it right up to word “Sarasota.”
I feel there should be some bongo drums accompanying this post.
Fantastic work.
Looks like a seismic shift in the Danzy Award landscape for Porterhouse Ponderings.
Bravo…(sniff…sniff)…bravo…
Brown Trout click thru gives me anxiety for some reason.
How now brown trout
What I often find myself wondering about
Is what does her ass taste like?
I don’t get the impression that the lasses in the TDT Reverse Seared Ribeye clickthrough are honoring the vows those rings are meant to symbolize. Is nothing sacred?
And, I don’t think they were waiting there on their knees to receive communion.
Porterhouse standing on the deck of a 50 ft Gulf Craft.
Brown Trout has the steady confidence of a seasoned rider.
By the way, I think Coffee click-through wears 2 pairs of underpants (probably fancy) twenty-four seven. Also – Thank you admin for no click-through on the Porterhouse; I’m guessing the cover pic ate up all the bandwith. She should be moored to a buoy.
If anyone remembers the Village Idiot in NYC, the porterhouse looks like the guy Tom who used to own it… one of the greatest dive bars ever…
I never entered that bar sober. I never remember leaving it.
So naturally I do not recall Tom. That said, I’ve seen more than a couple of bar owners share this porterhouse’s hi-pro glow.
Thanks to the internet … I hope this won’t refresh your memory … he’s the whitey and could be the porterhouse dad.
Usually we wonder about the feats of engineering and tensile strength of a swimsuit strap to hold a bully’s milkers up. In this ensemble, I wonder how much strength the bottom of the porterhouse’s swimsuit has to keep her gunt flap in.
After ruining many keyboards I now enjoy this site on a tablet. Anybody know if amazin sells squeegees?
I think I watched brown trout clickthrough for 15 minutes before I realized what I was doing
That Breakfast Barge clickthru has some fucked up jibs.
Is the picture of the Village Idiot taken at a certain dive bar in an undisclosed location known as the “Artful Dodger”?