Obviously, they are not as evolved as us platypii…es…uses…ussy Whatever.
we rebuilt him, we made him better, faster, stronger
I’m gonna hit you with something. Something so unbelievably fucking awesome, you may shit yourself. I don’t want you to actually poo your underoos so I’m going to take a few seconds here and let you get yourself all squared away. You ready?
…
Got some toilet paper and a bowl by your side?
…
I’m serious here, don’t be sending me your dry cleaning bills.
…
Ready now?
…
Okay, here goes nothing!
The OFFICIAL Rhetorical Platypus!
Yay! You may send your congratulatory comments and emails forthwith!
FORTHWITH!
And I ask you kindly not to steal anything…if you do? I will hunt you down and be that mouthbreather who always stands uncomfortably close, for the REST OF YOUR LIFE. And I will eat garlic, onions and anchovies everyday. EVERY. DAY.
Thank you to Mister SD for Mister RP. Copyright and whatnot. 2011. Funky. Yeah.
Minions! I need candy fueled minions!
Observed a disturbing(?) trend in the typical ‘slutty Halloween costume’ whilst out and about this past weekend.
Apparently the new thing to do this year was to still dress as a slutty nurse/cat/witch but… zombified.
The silliest thing about it is most of these people went whole hog on the slut and held back on the zomb, because god forbid you not be a PRETTY fucking ladybug zombie!
I think next year I’m just going to cut out the middle man dress up as a giant set of tits.
Zombie tits.
By the way…this is the only acceptable ‘slutty nurse’ outfit. Ever. EVER!
![SH_Movie_Nurses[1]](https://i0.wp.com/rhetoricalplatypus.com/wp-content/uploads/SH_Movie_Nurses1.jpg)
If you don’t know what the above is from, cry. Or hell, cry because it’s creepy as all holy fuck.
adventures and cake and dingleberries! oh. my!
You know you have an incredible mum because when you were younger she let you make your own mistakes , but knew when it was time to step in and give you a hand or help you pick up the pieces.
You know you have an amazing mum when you suddenly realise as an adult that there were many times when she went without, but never saddled you with the burden of knowing that.
You know she’s extraordinary in that she’ll always be there to listen to you bitch and moan, and isn’t just sitting on the other end of the phone waiting to speak.
But you know your mum has officially entered the realm of UNBELIEVABLY BATSHITTINGLY AWESOME when you ask her, ‘Can you draw me a bag of dicks?’ And she doesn’t even question you about it, this just shows up in your inbox two days later.
Thanks mum, you’re so fucking money.
Cemetery cat…trice.
Be damned!
oh balls…
When you are the empathetic type, be sure the person who is sobbing- that you are offering a tissue to- isn’t a completely batshit-crazy tiny racist Thai woman who continually asserts that SHE’S NOT CHINESE!
Otherwise, you will have to sit through her tirade about how her boss is an (adjective) cunt. The epithets and racism will continue to come, no matter how uncomfortable you try to make yourself look. Apparently, being a young, friendly, white woman is a license for someone to go crazy with the bigotry. Awesome.
This isn’t the first time this has happened to you…
Learn from your mistakes. Sheezus.
And….
This is what Google spat out when I searched ‘tiny racist’…seriously.
![50352_11672272873_6600_n[1]](https://i0.wp.com/rhetoricalplatypus.com/wp-content/uploads/50352_11672272873_6600_n1.jpg)
you know you’ve bought the extended warranty when…
Farting becomes less an embarrassment and more an all out hilarity producing olfactory assault. First person to leave the room loses. Extra points to the person who can best impersonate their favourite animal or successfully poot the closing notes of the 1812 Overture.
&
The bathroom door never closes…
EVER.
![130199533269[1]](https://i0.wp.com/rhetoricalplatypus.com/wp-content/uploads/1301995332691.jpg)
you can keep it, as long as you take care of it.
‘What’s the first thing you would do with £100 million?’ asked the man in the elevator.
I rattled off what is very likely the standard answer most people give- take care of my family, donate to charity, maybe buy a new car (well, not a new car, I’d be rich, not stupid). Then after more thought there’s the second part of the answer- buy a house, travel and help out my friends. But I feel bad about these answers, because they’re not true. Well, they are, but they are not the first thing I would do. The real answer is much, much weirder.
I would buy dirt.
Confused?
Let me clarify. I would buy a dumptruck full of soil, have it dropped in my backyard, mist it ever so slightly with a hose and dive in. Roll around in it naked like the happiest little piggy in the world and smile. I would do this for a week. Then once the week was done, I would have another truck full of dirt delivered and repeat the process.
Anytime I was feeling down? Dumptruck. When I’m having a party? Dumptruck. Somebody needs a gift for their birthday? Dumptruck.
I adore the smell of fresh, clean potting soil. I like the feel of it under my feet and between my fingers. I like it so much I sometimes feel like I want to eat it. Yes, eat it. Dirt pie, mmmmmm.
I’ll stop before this devolves into some kind of creepy dirt porn post or I completely freak you out. But if you bought me a sack of potting soil for Christmas? I wouldn’t be mad.
Oh Dirt-y, you so Purty!
p.s. I would also but a ceramic shop and a cigar factory with the money. My reasons for this are entirely kosher, I swear.
you’d think.
Shouldn’t artificial intelligence get smarter? Or at least the people who program such ‘intelligence’ be a bit smarter themselves?
What do I speak of at this precipice of understanding? Well, these sort of spammy ‘comments’.
From: bludeeebluvblu@lalalalalalaicanthearyoudotcom–
‘I like your roughly motivational place of duty you give rise to at this juncture.’
Really, I roughly motivate your place of duty? And you like it? What the stinking fuck does that even mean? Let’s consult Mr. Thesaurus and see if we can’t spice up this lovely string of nonsense with a bit of humour…how about next time you try this Mister Spam Robot Man?
‘I desire your scratchy inspiration house of business you give me an erection to at this moment.’
See what I did there? It’s all about the genitals, my friend. Get straight to the point. You want my scratchy house of business with your erection RIGHT NOW, there’s no sense in beating ‘round the bush, really.
From: iwanttoeatyourjamdonutinthesunshine@dolphinpoodotcom
‘Seems to facilitate lots of relations benefited from it. Cheers and credit.enjoyed.’
Oh, no dear. No need to play coy now that we’re friends! Just say what you mean, you juicy tart. Try this…
‘It seriously got me loads of ass, your blog about food that looks like shit! I can’t thank you enough! You are the reason I got laid. WHEEEEEEEEEEE! PENISBUMVAGINA!’
I believe with these two short sentences have created not only a more exciting spambot but a new vernacular for those that wish to Pub ‘n Hump©. Cos everyone wants to sound Victorian, it’s just wicked proper and shit. Woo, Victorian!
Cloris was all about the Cleveland Steamer. Toot toot!