The Pool Boys

 

Spider Babies

 

I'm Gonna Get You

 

I'm gonna get you.

 

 

I'm gonna get you.

 

 

I'm gonna get you.

 

Keeping it Real...

...with Betty Buttons
 

It's all about the gum...

The Fright-O-Meter in action

 

Note: Hands in air always comes

as a welcomed relief to my crotch.

My Bite Reaction

Good hand vs. Bad hand

 

 

 

not to be confused with Erica

 

 

Keeping it Real

with Betty Buttons

 

 

Keeping it Real

with Betty Buttons.

 

Keeping it Real

with your hostess,
Betty Buttons

Trapped in the web of....

Remember when LC said...

...she wanted to transgender.

 

Well, I ran some tests

and, I'm afraid, this is the result:

 

 

Note to LC: You might want to rethink

the whole thing.

Please Note:

Due to relocation and a general malaise

where the clientele is concerned,

Girlyskirt's Motel 69 will soon close its doors.

 

In its place, however,

coming this spring:

 

The CHOM Basement

 

 

Can a cocktail party be far behind?

 

In other news:

 

Mr. Balloonhead's dead.

 

 

Dead. Dead. Dead...Muffin???

From the movie...

Tourist Trap

 

The in-focus shot doesn't

look like anyone we know.

 

 

However, the out-of-focus shot...

Believe it or not...

...it's all from one room.

 

 

Dipsy knows...

...about the 4-hour specials in Room 19.

And, we've got the exclusive

photos to prove it!

To Quote More Shakespeare

A Girlyskirt Chip Review

After the last BBQ chip disaster, which I have officially dubbed Korea-gate, I decided to venture into hotter territory. And, what could possibly be hotter than Hell, I asked myself. So, naturally, Devil's BBQ, a flavour named after its chief resident, would have to be burning with the flickering flames of Damien-like evilness. Immediately, upon acquisition, I tore open the packaging and received a walloping whiff of Lucifer's loins, penetrating my nostrils with a savoury Satanic scent, thrusting deep into the bowels of my sinuses with a demonic dementia that dared to defile me of my innocence with its indulgent insurgence of inferno-esque intensity. Could this finally be the BBQ baddie that blows my skirt up over my scrotum and sends me into a blazing state of in flagrante delicto? With bated breath and bulging basket, I brazenly bit into the Beelzebub-based potato crunchers and my first reaction was to blurt out with unbridled bravado, "Ehh, they're OK." The thick tater snacks were definitely tasty and tangy and worthy of a repeat purchase. However, the Devil's barbecue ended up being more of a hibachi. Sure, they had a hint of Hades to them, but nowhere near the scorching hellzapoppin-ness that I was a-hopin' and a-hoppin' for. Once again, my dreams of Fahrenheit 451 had fizzled into a Celsius 27. What I thought might be my new BFF with benefits turned out to be nothing more than a very pleasant booty call, that I would not hesitate to dial long-distance for on some future occasion. In short, on the wang-o-meter, the devil's dong was delicious enough to keep putting back into my mouth, but not hot enough to require a mango lassi afterwards.

And while on the subject, my latest puzzle:

A Girlyskirt Chip Review

When my eyes accidentally stumbled upon this purple package of pleasure, I promptly prophesized pandemonium and popularity where my penchant for potato chips is concerned. Obviously, a Korean Barbecue flavour must be packed with a Kim Jong Un-ian pow that would not only wow the proletariat but blow the panty-hose off the hoi polloi as well. Certainly, these  paprika-sprinkled  snacks would have to ignite in one's mouth with an atomic devastation that would leave the tongue tantalized with the tang of spice and everything nice. How could something so bold in name not be rolled in flame? It was pre-destined that these kettle-cooked delights would be outta-sight with a dy-no-mite zing and bite that would have the meekest of mice be the sleekest in vice. But, alas, they merely tasted like a run-of-the-mill sweet BBQ that had my nuclear rocket fizzle out before it ever reached its destination. On the wang-o-meter, these chips deceived me more than bringing home an Equador-ean after a Saturday-night drinking binge only to find out that his basket was made in the Phillipines.

Just for you, LC

 

HBD!

A Girlyskirt Chip Review

As my readership knows, a new flavour of chips always sends this blogger a-flitter...so, you can just imagine the thrill I experienced when my beautiful eyes fell upon this package of Polynesian-themed potatoes. Immediately, visions of juicy pineapples and pupu platters danced through my head...not to mention wahinis wading through the warm waters of Waikiki while white waves whoosh wildly around their womanhood. So excited was I to have my taste buds savour these Hawaiian delights that I actually slipped into a grass skirt (underwear being optional, of course) and took my ukulele in hand to help heighten the eating experience...but, alas, these slightly spiced-up BBQ bits of mediocrity did not live up to their island inspiration. If you ask me, they were more so-so than Don Ho. Sadly, my greetings of aloha were turned into a low ha ha, as the scheming corporate executives laughed at the ease with which I was duplicitously duped into purchasing their cunningly-conceived creation. It's true, I was conned by their sneaky Kon Tiki tactics. And, don't even get me started on the ginger-infused sea-salt. Ginger, my Mary-Anne! As for the wang-o-meter, it never got lei-ed at the luau. Therefore, I won't be making a big hula-baloo about these 4 inches of shrinky dinkiness.

And finally...

...the 60s.

 

 

As far as I'm concerned,

it's all about the boots.

By special request...

...here is the 80s version.