Archive for the ‘A Bunk Original’ Category
Took me about 30 minutes. Looks nice and menacing, ya?
Trouble is, there’s this thing called “scale” that kinda ruined it all.
I’ve done better, but given that we only had about five groups of sugarboogers, the amount of time and effort was not squandered.
It also looks like our neighbors’ kikmi dog (that barks all night, until I nail it with a bucket of ice water and the yappy dog’s owner gets pissed at me). The dog’s owner looks just like her dog, too.
Hello, I am Ms. Twitter, daughter-in-law of Mr. Twitter and
wife Significant Other of Mr. Twitter II. I have been put in charge of something very important and I’ve been very important for some time.
See that door behind me? That’s the #TwitterGulag. It’s where I send people whom I decide have violated Twitter’s Terms Of Service, written by my 12 year-old niece, Denada. She hates everyone for no particular reason, but she’s still my niece, and I am still in charge.
I send email messages to those of you with Twitter Accounts whom have been flagged as inappropriate and non-compliant with my unspecified political point of view. I ensure that your Twitter accounts are appropriately blocked, banned and deleted, and that you are required to jump through tiny little email hoops to get your pathetic Twitter accounts reinstated.
It never happens.
At the same time, I allow the most egregious violators of our TOS to fly free and clear no matter what offensive garbage they post or how much targeted harassment they get away with, despite your whining complaints. That makes me laugh, because there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. Yeah. Complain to @Twitter or @TwitterSupport and see what happens, loser.
But here’s the fun part. Once I decide you’re banned, your entire history goes away and you get to start all over. It’s like you never even existed. You are nothing more than a squeezed spent pimple on the Junior High Boys’ Restroom mirror to me, and the school janitor takes care of you.
I am Ms. Twitter. Do not trifle with me.
…and he’s about to kick some vegetarian butt.
[Original undoctored image found here.]
No, that’s not a photo shop. It’s a real pig being fed a Bunk sandwich. With minimal sleuthing we determined that the hipsters’ porker is standing on the pristine pavement in front of BUNK Sandwiches 2017 NE Alberta Street, Portland Oregon.
This is not their only venue, and they have a Bunk Truck for catering. Why didn’t they tell me? After all, I’ve already got a cool hip logo for lease or rent:
BTW, Google Maps Street View captured this Babe Magnet parked across the street from Bunk’s.
[Top image sent via email. Muchisimas Grassyass, Russ.]
“It’s a modified 1924 Allis-Chalmers,” she explained as the Vulcan’s eyes drifted ever so slightly to the dual temperature gauges.
“I should step out during the next solo jam and adjust the thermostat,” he mused to himself.
After turning up the air conditioning, The Vulcan found his buddies playing air guitar in the hallway. It made him proud.
The set ended quickly and when The Vulcan returned, the truth overwhelmed him: she was gone forever. She’d downed her whiskey sours, leaving nothing but lipstick on his empty shot glass and a bar tab of 98 Federation Credits, not counting the tip.
“Hit me again, Joe. Make it a double,” The Vulcan mumbled to no one in particular. He lit up his last unfiltered Tribble, inhaled deeply, tilted his head back and blew a perfect Figure 8 at the fire sprinkler head above the juke box. For the first time in his life, he grinned – a big toothy Vulcan grin.
[Images found here.]
I was informed about a cool site called “MapCrunch” that takes you to a random Google Maps Street View Image with a single click ‘o the mouse, so I took it for a quick spin.
I ended up traveling North on the Bumthang-Ura Highway in Bhutan and decided to see what was around the corner. (Click on any image below for detail.)
Looks pretty, clean and quiet, paved road, dogs, no graffiti and snakes on the roof. Yeah, I could live there, and what could be better than living in the sticks and having a King named Jigme Wangchuck?
[h/t Baffled Baboon]
Yep. There they are.
No one can stop thin king. The entire concept is awesome, because when you squint your eyes you can see a small dog squatting in your mother’s flowerbed. The image is copyrighted, just like every other scribble you’ve ever seen on the internest.
“…Sophie ankle-biting kikmi dog nipping my ankles as I step out my own front door and laughing as she poops on my own front porch and laughing the way a kikmi dog does knowing that she doesn’t live here and is too small to send flying to the curb with the quick broadside of a boot – until now.”
©2015 Bunk Strutts