Aside

A big heart and and a bigger purse. Seen here wearing a Coach kiddy-pool...

Well fuck a duck and pull my pig-tails—Snooki found a taker…

People continue to amaze the amazement right out of my blue-chipper glutes.  Let’s have a big round of applause for Jeff Miranda, the dumbass that’s about to embark on a relationshit voyage with one of the most despicable alcoholic Hobbits I’ve ever seen with a fake tan—Mr. Snooki…

“The way the show depicts her and makes her seem is totally not her,” Miranda insists. “She honestly has one of the biggest hearts…She is really not how everybody thinks she is.” (sorcery)

Good point Jeff.  All of that actual video footage of Snooki acting like an asshole is so very misleading—it’s not like that was her in those videos of her.  Our mistake…I guess the producers of The Jersey Shore decided to deep-six all that footage of her feeding homeless cats and doing charity work for the blind…

Dear Jeff Miranda,

It’s my understanding that you’re a 24 year-old veteran of the war in Iraq.  I’d like to take this opportunity to offer my sincere thanks to you and your service.  As someone who has never served, I want you to know that I appreciate the Hell out of what you do—regardless of what my opinion is on any given War that our military happens to be fighting, it’s folks like you that are there to cover our collective American ass either way.  Again, thanks Jeff.

With this being said—What are you thinking fool? I’ve got a bear-trap in my basement somewhere if you’d like to borrow it—throw your genitals right in there and save yourself some fargin’ time.

As someone who has faced chemical weapons, car-bombs, AK-47s and the Iraqi Insurgency—Why come all the way home to New Jersey only to stick your cock in a bronze land-mine?

You went all the way to Baghdad my friend—but you may have found the weapon of mass-destruction on the Jersey shore…

Regardless,

~Ron-Yves Strouteau (aka-The Litigation)

Limerick For Jeff (Good Luck Man)

There once was a man in a war

When he got home he wanted some more

So he went down on Snooki

Got bit by her Wookie

Who then spit out his junk on the shore

Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

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Aside

Denny Delvecchio.

Denny Delvecchio, the CEO and ’employee of the month’ over at Your New Bad Habit, recently had one of his secretaries contact me with several propositions—But the thought of doing Denny’s yard-work or videotaping his ritualistic 3-way with a dehydrated set of Olsen twins didn’t exactly sound appealing to me.  So I declined.

Ultimately, a compromise was reached and I’m happy to report that our staff will be dropping off the occasional ‘guest-post’ over at Denny’s place.

Click or rub Denny’s mugshot to be whisked away to his neck of the woods—give that son of a bitch some unprotected love…

~Ron-Yves Strouteau

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The Weather Fork-Ass—Don’t Start Your Week Without It…

Iron the poncho and steal an umbrella—there’s a storm a’coming…

Our high-end meteorology equipment is bearing bad news once again.  I was really hoping to report clear skies and ideal temps with occasional showers of ‘whatever the Hell you want’—but I’m afraid it’s not to be...

The ADHD Chuck Norris Radar Run-Down: A very useful segment in which ADHD Chuck Norris totally forgets that he’s reporting the radar information and begins to throw round-house kicks at the Great Lakes instead…

Thank’s Chuck—we appreciate the effort…

~Ron-Yves & Sampsonian

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Me, Your Gal & My Johnson…

Summer is soon to give way to Fall, before undoubtedly succumbing to a long hot Winter…Let’s talk it over…

I like Summer just as much as the next guy—Doing squats at the outdoor gym that I built in front of my apartment, wedging into my snake-skin banana hammock before ripping down the boardwalk in a pair of stolen rollerblades at over 25-mph—and getting shanked by the female version of Mickey Rourke at a Bike Week BBQ are just a few of my favorite Summer activities.

…but Summer’s not always a series of Skittles and hand-jobs ya know—like anything else, minor inconveniences are constantly springing up.  Take for example~~~>> Imagine strolling into your favorite Thai restaurant to pick up your take-out order.  The restaurant is small, extremely quiet and is currently hosting about 8 dinner guests.  Since you’re entering the place wearing 3$ flip-flops, this is obviously the perfect frackin’ time for the physics of suction to completely screw you over by producing a loud, abrupt noise from the underside of your foot—a noise that more or less sounds like just about every other fart you’ve heard in your life…

Obviously, you’re not about to explain to these jamokes that your flip-flop is the guilty party because, let’s face it—would you believe you? So you pay for your fargin’ food and deal with the fact that you’ll forever be known to those peeps as the ‘fucking ass-hole that shat himself while grabbing take-out…’

That’s some bull-shit that just happened to me—let’s hope none of the following Summer related bull-shit happens to you…

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Fear not my friends.  You can salvage your Summer with stunning ease by partaking in one or both of the following activities…

~Ron-Yves Strouteau

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This Old Blog…

Repeat visitors are noticing that our site looks different.  “Who gives a shit?” you’re saying.  “Exactly”, is what we’re saying…

We felt it was time for a site-makeover so I started in with a little tummy-tuck, a tan and two fake boobs (fraudulent rack)—then I  moved on to a slathery USB Botoxing session with an encore of having it hold on to both sidebars while asking Jeeves to Google and Bing the backside of  it’s YouTube like a Boing-Boing to the back of your Header-Image…

Unfortunately, the blood tests came back positive for Skype…

By the way, I’ve been asked why we chose Such Tight Slacks for the name of our blog…Well, it originated after watching a hockey game, consuming a couple of Molsons and happening upon the following videos…

Happy Trails!

~Ron-Yves Strouteau

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Aside

On the side of our blog you’ll see a truly revolutionary feature titled Browse For Shiz—accompanied by a Search button.  I’m pretty sure I just became the first person in history to actually use it and let me tell you something—it does work…I typed in Tiger’s name and found nothing, I couldn’t believe it…It’s time we broke our silence about this world-renowned doer of rampant intercourse…

He'll do ya sooner or later...

Tiger Woods, shaving strokes off his ego...

When the Woods scandal first broke like an old lady’s hip in a backyard wrestling tourney, I’d just had my tonsils removed.  The story was so funny to me, that it really assisted in my recovery over the next couple of weeks.  Anyone that has had their tonsils taken out as an adult can tell you that the first week after the operation is pretty damn painful.

Put it this way—take the worst sore throat you’ve ever had in your life, make it watch Titanic twice in a row and then kick it with a flaming, steel toed, acid-drenched Lugz boot.  Then make it watch Titanic again…

I must have gone down on a million popsicles that week—that’s a lot of frigid fellatio right there.  I knew I had a serious problem when I was searching around for a pair of balls to cup halfway through a pineapple freeze-pop…

Regardless, a friend of mine was recently golfing on a course called Juniper Hill in Northboro, Massachusetts when he wisely snapped the following picture…

*Call me paranoid, but something tells me that Tiger played the exact same hole about 5 minutes before my buddy rolled through…

Look closely---The towel on the ball-washer is reaching over to wipe off the tip!

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I Had A Dream—Analyze It For Me…

You may want to sit down for this...

I recently had a disturbing dream—so disturbing in fact, that I feel it needs to be shared with the rest of the group…For therapeutic purposes of course…

The Dream Begins—>> I’m in a hospital room full of short, chubby doctors, one Canadian obstetrician and several tall, big-breasted nurses (who keep checking me out)—there’s a lady I’ve never seen before who’s lying on the hospital bed, she’s in labor…

I suddenly realize that this must be my wife—not my real wife, as I’m unmarried—but my dreamland-wife…Since I’m such a great dreamland-husband, I rush to her side and begin to feed her ice-chips and Little Debbie’s double-decker oatmeal pies while the medical staff diligently works on the delivery…

After several agonizing hours of labor and a whole case of oatmeal pies later, the obstetrician finally announces, “Yee-Haaaaw!  I can see this kid’s frackin’ head!”

As all of the nurses begin eagerly high-fiving one another while simultaneously grabbing my near perfect ass, our merrymaking is interrupted by the obstetrician—who’s now shrieking loudly in horror!

I turn to look and there he stands, holding only the baby’s head in his hands—nothing more…Oddly enough, the head is crying obnoxiously just as a normal baby’s noggin would be doing—and I’m thinking that maybe this is a good sign…

Before any of us have time to react, a foot pops out of my wife—then a bicep—a thigh—a lower back—both hands and so on and so forth until we’re all staring at this big pile of baby body parts—all of which seem to be perfectly healthy, just unattached to one another…

“Maybe some assembly instructions will come out of there too,” I chirp, taking a big swig of my ice-cold Fresca.

Naturally, I’m right…Seconds later, a sizable 125-page hard-cover manual detailing the instructions of the child-assembly appears—along with a small bag of screws and a set of Allen wrenches…

However, the instructions are in Spanish—nobody in the hospital speaks Spanish…This is a problem…

“Listen up you nincompoop,” the doc says to me—“Our lunch break is in about 45-minutes, none of us speak Spanish and it could take me days to get a translator over here—do you mind if we just do the best we can on this kid—and then go grab a bite?”

“Have you tried that new Thai place around the corner?” I ask.

*The medical staff proceeds to hastily assemble our child in less than 15-minutes, which leads to the following conversation with the obstetrician…

Doc—OK Mr. Strouteau, we fixed your kid—sorta.

Me—How’d it go?

Doc—Not well—this kid is flat-out fucked.

Me—Spare me the fancy medical jargon, doc—give it to me straight.

Doc—Mr. Strouteau—your kid is a damn whack-job—what don’t you understand?

Me—Hmmm—can I sue you?

Doc—No.  It’s just a dream, you dumb-ass.

Me—What’s the bottom-line here?

Doc—There will be some long-term repercussions of today’s delivery and the assembly debacle which ensued afterward.

Me—Repercussions?  Can you be more pacific?

Doc—You mean—specific?

Me–What did I say?

Doc—You said—pacific.

Me—No I didn’t.

Doc—Yes you did.

(We proceed to argue over this point for several minutes)

Me—OK Doogie—you win…I said pacific—Now what’s going to happen with this kid?

Doc—For starters, he’ll most likely never get laid.

Me—No shit, what else?

Doc—He’ll possess the ability to jump extremely fucking high—He’ll also have a strong tendency to sleep standing up—In addition to this, he’ll be able to run backwards at 35-mph on his hands, but will most likely get his chin stuck in his ass if he tries to eat corn on the cob…


This is precisely the moment in which I woke up from this horrid dream…

I showered, ironically ate a bowl of Corn-Pops and then headed off to work—trying to make sense of it all…

-Ron

PS—I’m willing to pay dearly for answers…


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