Posts
It showcased a recent migration of whole groups of people to a new found source of gold: Rosanne Barr's vagina. Apparently the vastness of the region was so grand it could house a small city, one of stragglers and sinewy people, all chasing a gold rush like that of 19th century.
A brave group of miners explores the inner workings of Rosanne Barr's Vagina
Discovery Channel doesn't like to talk about it much, but the episode went like this:
"Its early morning here at the Crusted Jewel Mining facility located in the damp gloomy cave that is Rosanne Barr's vagina. Now, we had heard the original rumors regarding Rosanne Barr and her massive lady parts, but when we recently heard of gold being discovered, we knew we had to get in on the action." He stood in front of a productive shack - judging by the sounds coming from it - with a sign tacked out front that said CRUSTED JEWEL MINING CO. 2007. "First word of the Barr cave's vastness was reported by Tom Arnold himself, but this came after the divorce and many people believed it to be slander for a scorned ex-lover, rather than the God-awful truth. It was later affirmed in an online article that totally kicked ass. . . Tom Arnold had been trapped inside of her for many days, like Jonah in the whale, before he eventually escaped, and once again felt the fresh air of freedom. . . But this is Dirty Jobs, today, we're here for the mining operation which apparently started up as recent as three years ago, when trapped ex-boyfriends found gold so far back in her cooch that not even Rosanne Barr knew about it. Come on! Lets go!"
Cut to:
"This is what we use to mine the gold." The miner said. He held up a pick axe, blunted at the end from years of use. "Yeah just your standard pick axe, nothing special there. You basically just hack at it like so." He illustrated his swing, a fierce tug of the axe with pure brute strength.
"Wow." Mike said. "She don't feel it?"
"She don't feel a thing - aint felt a thing for decades mah friend, let alone now."
Then Mike's voiceover went like this:
"This is Otto P. Lotto (lawl), owner of the Crusted Jewel, and was Rosanne's boyfriend in 2004, but after he called her fat she sucked him up and he's been here ever since. He's 45 years of age and is one of the oldest people trapped in Rosanne Barr's vagina. He's covered nearly an inch thick in black soot, but doesn't seem to mind, not that there's anyway to bathe in here anyway."
Otto P. Lotto, he don't fuck around - he'll pierce you with his beady-soul-crushed eyes while he defiantly smokes a cigarette with a bony hand of tangled tree roots: "I don't care if there's no smoking indoors, this whole place is indoors, and I need a smoke - besides I've seen some shit, I'll tell yah - some real horrible shit."
"Its early morning here at the Crusted Jewel Mining facility located in the damp gloomy cave that is Rosanne Barr's vagina. Now, we had heard the original rumors regarding Rosanne Barr and her massive lady parts, but when we recently heard of gold being discovered, we knew we had to get in on the action." He stood in front of a productive shack - judging by the sounds coming from it - with a sign tacked out front that said CRUSTED JEWEL MINING CO. 2007. "First word of the Barr cave's vastness was reported by Tom Arnold himself, but this came after the divorce and many people believed it to be slander for a scorned ex-lover, rather than the God-awful truth. It was later affirmed in an online article that totally kicked ass. . . Tom Arnold had been trapped inside of her for many days, like Jonah in the whale, before he eventually escaped, and once again felt the fresh air of freedom. . . But this is Dirty Jobs, today, we're here for the mining operation which apparently started up as recent as three years ago, when trapped ex-boyfriends found gold so far back in her cooch that not even Rosanne Barr knew about it. Come on! Lets go!"
Cut to:
"This is what we use to mine the gold." The miner said. He held up a pick axe, blunted at the end from years of use. "Yeah just your standard pick axe, nothing special there. You basically just hack at it like so." He illustrated his swing, a fierce tug of the axe with pure brute strength.
"Wow." Mike said. "She don't feel it?"
"She don't feel a thing - aint felt a thing for decades mah friend, let alone now."
Then Mike's voiceover went like this:
"This is Otto P. Lotto (lawl), owner of the Crusted Jewel, and was Rosanne's boyfriend in 2004, but after he called her fat she sucked him up and he's been here ever since. He's 45 years of age and is one of the oldest people trapped in Rosanne Barr's vagina. He's covered nearly an inch thick in black soot, but doesn't seem to mind, not that there's anyway to bathe in here anyway."
Otto P. Lotto, he don't fuck around - he'll pierce you with his beady-soul-crushed eyes while he defiantly smokes a cigarette with a bony hand of tangled tree roots: "I don't care if there's no smoking indoors, this whole place is indoors, and I need a smoke - besides I've seen some shit, I'll tell yah - some real horrible shit.""Yeah." Lotto said. "I don't notice the smell anymore. I'm use to it, but rookies tend to say its one of the worst parts of the job - just the smell alone." He sniffed the air to see if maybe he could smell it again, if only faintly.
"It is quite the odor." Mike said. "Like a fishing dock strewn with the bodies of dead babies."
"But they're wrong you know." Lotto said.
"Pardon?"
"Its not the worst part of the job - the smell I mean. Its this damn moisture. Its everywhere, and hangs over your head like your own personal rain cloud. My word, a man can go through 10 pairs of socks a day, in a hope to keep out the moisture, and it will all be for not, because there's just no way around it." He scratched his head, as if even now he was trying to figure out a way to fight the damn moisture. He kicked his feet and wandered off. . . "Just no way around it."
Mike's voiceover:
"I worked with a few of the more experienced miners, who made the process seem easy. I on the other hand had my difficulties. The floor and walls themselves were slippery, making it difficult to get a good footing. It would get everywhere, all over the axe and my clothing, and the stench made it impossible to think straight. But my efforts were not in vain, after hours working in what seemed like 100 percent humidity, I discovered it. Gold. Cooch gold. Cooch gold is far more rare than regular gold, and although the piece I mined was no bigger than a pebble, its market estimated value was two hundred and fifty dollars. The best part was that it seemed to be everywhere, sprung up like weeds bearing riches - for those willing to sweat it out for it.
We met up again with Otto P. Lotto who still had the same bitterness about him. (Of course Mike, for you this is but an hour special, for me this is but another knot in the noose. This damn moisture, Mike, my skin is peeling like dry paint. I'm rotting.) We came with our newly mined cooch rock. He refined it for us, and did it with an ease that can only come from years of practice. (Clean there in the light. Fine. What infinite pleasures may come of this. What toil went into finding it. And that damned moisture. . .) After studying it he told us of its particular purity, and let us keep it as a parting memento."
"So you think this is the dirtiest job?" Mike said, putting his newly acquired precious metal in his pocket.
"Mmm." Otto pondered a moment, and then spat. "I suppose so. If not it certainly is one of the most dangerous ones." Mike asked, "Dangerous?" "Yes'm. Why just the other day a man took a dip in the drink, drowned hisself in minutes flat. Drowned right there in that river, that penile canal or birth canal or whats-it. Yeah, and another boy took to the vaginal walls over yonder, slipped and busted his head on the rock there - killed hisself in minutes flat. Yes'm."
He took another tug of his cigarette. "Just no way around it." The words came with billows of blue smoke. "Just no way around it."
Mike's voiceover:
"When we left all the workers came to see us off (Came to shun you bastards. To send you off with a dirty glare, and me at the forefront of it all. Like vultures you swept through this graveyard, picked the bones of any meat you found desirable and held it up to your lens for all to see. . . Could you see the emptiness in our eyes - the years of wrought that woman put upon us? I can feel it in my face - the creases - the age - the torment. . .) And we were glad to be off, out into the fresh air which never seemed so crisp before (I'd give anything to smell fresh air again.) We left with a precious cooch rock, a memento of a dangerous smelly. . . Dirty Job. . ."
Mike would then go home and sleep peacefully, a smile painted across his face.
Otto would tie up his noose.
Rosanne Barr would turn in bed - didn't feel a thing.
By midnight Otto would be dead. Just no way around it.
iR
"It is quite the odor." Mike said. "Like a fishing dock strewn with the bodies of dead babies."
"But they're wrong you know." Lotto said.
"Pardon?"
"Its not the worst part of the job - the smell I mean. Its this damn moisture. Its everywhere, and hangs over your head like your own personal rain cloud. My word, a man can go through 10 pairs of socks a day, in a hope to keep out the moisture, and it will all be for not, because there's just no way around it." He scratched his head, as if even now he was trying to figure out a way to fight the damn moisture. He kicked his feet and wandered off. . . "Just no way around it."
Mike's voiceover:
"I worked with a few of the more experienced miners, who made the process seem easy. I on the other hand had my difficulties. The floor and walls themselves were slippery, making it difficult to get a good footing. It would get everywhere, all over the axe and my clothing, and the stench made it impossible to think straight. But my efforts were not in vain, after hours working in what seemed like 100 percent humidity, I discovered it. Gold. Cooch gold. Cooch gold is far more rare than regular gold, and although the piece I mined was no bigger than a pebble, its market estimated value was two hundred and fifty dollars. The best part was that it seemed to be everywhere, sprung up like weeds bearing riches - for those willing to sweat it out for it.
We met up again with Otto P. Lotto who still had the same bitterness about him. (Of course Mike, for you this is but an hour special, for me this is but another knot in the noose. This damn moisture, Mike, my skin is peeling like dry paint. I'm rotting.) We came with our newly mined cooch rock. He refined it for us, and did it with an ease that can only come from years of practice. (Clean there in the light. Fine. What infinite pleasures may come of this. What toil went into finding it. And that damned moisture. . .) After studying it he told us of its particular purity, and let us keep it as a parting memento."
"So you think this is the dirtiest job?" Mike said, putting his newly acquired precious metal in his pocket.
"Mmm." Otto pondered a moment, and then spat. "I suppose so. If not it certainly is one of the most dangerous ones." Mike asked, "Dangerous?" "Yes'm. Why just the other day a man took a dip in the drink, drowned hisself in minutes flat. Drowned right there in that river, that penile canal or birth canal or whats-it. Yeah, and another boy took to the vaginal walls over yonder, slipped and busted his head on the rock there - killed hisself in minutes flat. Yes'm."
He took another tug of his cigarette. "Just no way around it." The words came with billows of blue smoke. "Just no way around it."
Mike's voiceover:
"When we left all the workers came to see us off (Came to shun you bastards. To send you off with a dirty glare, and me at the forefront of it all. Like vultures you swept through this graveyard, picked the bones of any meat you found desirable and held it up to your lens for all to see. . . Could you see the emptiness in our eyes - the years of wrought that woman put upon us? I can feel it in my face - the creases - the age - the torment. . .) And we were glad to be off, out into the fresh air which never seemed so crisp before (I'd give anything to smell fresh air again.) We left with a precious cooch rock, a memento of a dangerous smelly. . . Dirty Job. . ."
Mike would then go home and sleep peacefully, a smile painted across his face.
Otto would tie up his noose.
Rosanne Barr would turn in bed - didn't feel a thing.
By midnight Otto would be dead. Just no way around it.
iR
