George Noory

Big Tahhmmeeee's tramp stamp reads "Mammoth Cave; Explore Our Natural Wonders" with an arrow pointing down.

Jorch once spent an entire weekend lost in its depths despite wearing hiking boots and a helmet equipped with a light.

Lol No Liebfraumilsche before its time.

Of course he has!
That's just plain insulting.
Jorch has an umlaut for breakfast most mornings....

George’s claim to fame is being able to sneeze the German alphabet.

It's not yet December but that hasn't stopped Jorch putting up his Christmas decorations.

Just ask the staff at the Emergency Department at Cedars Sinai Medical Centre. They've had to remove them from his ass.

It’s Spanksgiving at the Noory Ranch, as a pot bellied George, festooned in cowboy boots, assless chaps and nipple clamps rides range over a lil heffer named Tahmee.

Dinner is at 2pm, and consists of a seven course meal of glazed hog (Tahmee), Beet juice, and really strong mints. The mints are a nod to Christmas as George wolfs a handful then toungues Tahmee who squeals reminicent of a vinyl Christmas carol played on a skilsaw.

The other four courses are served up by John Law, who bust into Casa de Noory after neighbors report their wild shenanigans after they spilled out onto the front lawn. Night sticks followed by tasers, and handcuffs, topped off with beans on toast in the local lock up.

Same time next year!

Twink Martindale

Great halftime show! My favorite part was when Lizzo sat on Jerry Jones’ face at mid-field.

Deuce Belichick

Jorch just checked into The Mirage in Vegas under the name Bob Big'n'Low

Jorch was the model for the Santilli "alien autopsy" video.

One of the "organs" removed in the film is actually a goiter Jorch inadvertently sucked off Big Tahhmmeeee's neck during a particularly robust tryst in 1964.




Last Edited by 4th Mesa on 11/25/2022 04:07 AM

This is GOLD! (and, as Jorch himself observed, strangely erotic)

Jorch likes to lie naked, face down, in the sand at Malibu, chatting about conspiracies, then have Tahhmm Donghoister clean-off his sandy hook....




Last Edited by 4th Mesa on 11/25/2022 04:29 AM

Jorch's Chinese "masseur" Chew Mai Phat uses a 14" dildo to re-align Jorch's chakras.

LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL!!!

Hahahahahahahahahahhahahahaha!!!

And…

Concur.

hahahahahahahahahahahahaha

When traveling to Japan or even to Japantowns in the U.S., George — the consummate power bottom — goes by the alias Mi So Stuff.

When making reservations at his favorite restaurant in Chinatown, George leaves the name Manchu Dong. Staff knows exactly who it is, and they have George’s usual table ready and waiting by the men’s restroom.

It’s a typical day at the old, western saloon in Tombstone, Arizona. It’s early afternoon with the sun blazing outside, while inside a few regulars sit at the bar, with a few more sitting at two-tops.

Suddenly the swinging doors at the entrance are kicked open. Standing as a silhouette backlit against the bright, desert sun stands Art Bell. Clad in a long sleeve shirt, leather vest, cow hide chaps, boots with spurs, and a dirty black cowboy hat, with two 6-shooters holstered at each hip, Art pauses at the entrance for effect, then slowly saunters bow-legged toward the bar, his spurs clanking with each deliberate step.

Every step is a measured, deliberate, purposeful demonstration to instill fear and intimidation to all those present. Days worth of dirt and grit cover not only Art’s clothes, but are caked to his sun-burnt, weathered face. Everyone is watching him.

As Art approaches the bar, the bartender’s heart rate increases in conjunction with his uncertainty about what this fearsome stranger has planned. Patrons at the bar move over a few seats to make way for this stranger in town.

Art’s sidles up to the bar, hoisting one leg up & over a barstool, taking his seat at the middle of the bar. A couple people are so intimidated, they leave the saloon.

Art’s iron jaw is in a perpetual clench. His eyes are permanently beady with determination and will. His stare is penetrating.

It’s dead silent in the saloon. The piano player has stopped playing for fear Art won’t like the song. You could hear a pin drop.

The barkeep nervously approached Art and sheepishly asks, “What’ll it be pard’ner?”

Art slooowly looks right, then left, then back down at the bar counter in front of him.

“Like something to drink?” the bartender asks again, even more sheepishly, with a slight crack in his voice that he tries to cover for by clearing his throat nervously.

Ever so slowly, Art raises his head so he’s looking right into the bartender’s eyes. He pauses for a 5-count. Beads of sweat accumulate on the barkeep’s forehead. Everyone’s holding their breath.

Art’s sun-burnt, chapped lips part for what seems to take hours. Then…he speaks…

“Gimme a Shirley Temple. On the rocks. No chaser. And keep ‘em comin’.”