Thighs Wide Shut

 

another year, another bout of Ranch Farts

you know the drill – eat, drink, eat, fart, repeat…

 

state your case

more like ‘Whitest State Ever’

 –

since we’re all old and billionaires, we stepped up our game
and stayed at the Union

where the views are to die for
but not to diet for

–

the carpets scream redrum

and the eating made for red-bums

–

oh ranch sauce 

men want to be you
and women want you inside of them

–

and oh divine swine

how you make us sin, even though we brought a rabbi with us

–

speaking of
the Rabbi thinks I should do
a gallery show of our ranch sauce pics

fart art?

–

the owner of BuffaLouies is my hero

 

literally, a larger than life
personality – with the wings
to back it up

–

he’s like the second greatest man behind Neon Jesus 

Bobby Knight’s in white ranch sauce

- 

 want to know what lonely is?

this pencil shapener, sitting at the bottom of a stairwell, probably barely used or ever noticed

–

each trip back to Bloomington brings back old memories but sometimes provides new ones

like these amazing headshots of ‘talent’ from the 80s that played Bear’s Place

ah, M&Mc – the dynamic duo to end all dynamic duos

–

I’d choose this guy’s
‘stache in a pinch!

–

more like jester.  off with his head!

- 

who, me???

- 

uh, um, uh?

- 

Banks, so money!!!

–

Weird Yal Ankovic?

- 

me?

- 

yes, me – DJ Tanner of the Mike & Jonah & Terry Milk Show! it’s like 1997/98 all over again!! big ups to BFinx for the tour!!

–

I’m a slow starter / fast farter

- 

but I won a super amazing hat (not pictured) from this crane-game thing

- 

can’t wait for #RanchFarts2015!!!!
the year we juggle!!!

 

yep, we (Thigh Master, Thighsbart, Jewanicur, BJNewms, Sonkin, Gomby & Wolffie) go back to school more often than you do. wees very proud alumnus of Indiana University, juss like Kevin Kline & Jim Jones & Marc Singer from V!! also wees very proud at how much food & fun & friends we can shove into a single weekend. this particular weekend may look a lot like others of the past, but it was different, cause no ranch fart ever smells the same as another.  they like snowflakes.  anywho…

we snuck into a frat kitchen to show you what college looks like

Keystone Light will never die!!!

but we also took the time to look at a different kind of man-made beauty!

like nicely shaped buildings on the bestest campus evs!!!

who wrote this, a mail or femail???

doesn’t sound like much of a priority anymo!

wethinks David Lynch stole his Twin Peaks hallways from the HPER‘s

and the Nazis stole the swastika from the same place!!

where’s the ranch farting lane?

get it, a lane where ranch farting is accepted?

for richer or pourer, we sunk the Biz at Nick’s!!!

our mos flavorite bar in the world, besides the Dive Bar!!!

and yet, despite of all the debauchery, there was still time for culture!!

at the Lilly Library, now our mos flavorite library besides ones where there are hot & naughty librarians

any Tom, Dick or Larry can swing on in & look at magnificent manuscripts & pertinent papers

like Orson Welles’ shiz (and Vonnegut’s & others)!!!!!

they even have early drafts of Citizen Kane when it was called The American!!!!

and you get to put yer greasy lil paws all over them!!!

and you can even JO to his birth certificate!!

and yes, his dad’s name is Dick Head Welles!!!

and yes, Orson was above average!!!!

twas such an honor to touch his honor card!!!

but a C in gym Orson????

too busy being a genius to be in shape????

they also have a lot o’ John Ford’s shiz, like ironically enuff, his Oscar for How Green Way My Valley

which wrongly bested Citizen Kane at the 1941 Academy Awards!!! bastardos!!!!

ok kids, the writing was on the walls

do not try any of the following at home, and juss be happy you can’t smell the ranch farts at home!!

yours drooly, the mumble narrator and overlord of ranch farts!!!

we know you like to watch!!!

this is proof that there is a God

but ranch farts prove that there isn’t a God

but Pizza Express‘ Dixie Chicken (BBQ grilled chicken, red onion, Wisconsin cheddar) is also proof that there is one!!

this za may be basic Midwestern stuffs, but it’s better than a lot of NY za!! 15reals!!!!!

and there aint nuttin wetter than these there wet cokes!!

besides our vaginas after seeing bountiful feast after feast!!

extra! extra!  fart all about it!!!

man, shiz really adds up super qwikly!!!

even branched out and had a lil Greek food!

the Cheesepa’rer & other goodies gave us tzatziki farts!!!

at Hinkle’s Hamburgers’ grease is STILL the word, booty!!

place is so dang good, they don’t even need a website!

had to make a stop de pit at the VP

and munch on an adequate chicken salad sangwich

so blazed and confused that me eyes are going in nine different directions/erections!!!!

this is the only thing we didn’t eat this weekend

and thanks to Imodium AD, we didn’t have to poop much!!

shocking, we know

photo assist from OviWani

While certainly no back alley abortion with wire hangers covered in Crisco, the Redskins (from here on out shall be known as the Deadskins) basically gave the Colts the NFL equiv of a homecoming game, right before my very own thighs. It was truly deeply madly a tale of two halves. The first was a thing of fragile beauty, capped by that Antwaan Randle El punt return for a TD. Unfortch the second half was a tale more worthless than An American Tail 2: Fievel Goes West. If only the Deadskins had the talent and soul of a James Ingram and Linda Ronstadt duet (‘Somewhere Out There‘ [d]). But to be purrfectly honest, the Skins weren’t the stankiest stank of the weekend. That honor belongs to my arse, who on Saturday night, in a five hour span, dished out 26+ (not even jokin) room clearing farts. And how did my bowels make such a movement? The state of Indiana is not only filled with an overlode of bumble fork white folk and super hottie blond chicks, but enuff ranch dipping sauce to feed every third, fourth, and fifth world country. Ithinks I ingested more ranch sauce than I did alcohol at my ye olde university stompin grounds. Thinks? Meknows! And while I was beyond amused by my own odors, others were not. My gay lover Marwanicure was there to witness the disfitness and described said ass air poofs to a (far)T:

– cream cheese thats been left out of the fridge….for 16 years

– someone slaughtered a horse and then let the meat sit in the sweltering sun for 40 days

– a rotten egg that was eaten and then crapped out by a homeless guy

– roast beef that had been dipped in giraffe vomit

– tuna fish that was eaten, puked up, and then farted on by a dog

Gawd bless America, and the gluish substance that they call ‘ranch sauce’ that made a pooish substance in my pants, from the finiestest za establishment that dontsesnt nathan hail from NYC, Chi-town, STL, Ledo’s, or Italy: Pizza Express, which should be confused with its Indy offshoot that has the bestest use of ‘box’ double entendres: Hot Box Pizza (all dough sadly none are mentioned on their url)

and while you imagine what my ass smelled like, I leave yous with this pic of an IU building sign that someone graffitied with what everyone tallways thinks of when they see it…