George Noory

Dinah won’tcha BLOW… Dinah won’tcha BLOW…

“Well, my brother sent me a book for Christmas… Tom of Finland.”

It’d be great to attend a Willy Streaker lecture and heckle him from the back row

The Lebanese Lummox swears by the aphrodisiac properties of food from his homeland.

Yes, that's right, Jorch is a confirmed hummus sexual

“Oddly enough, his wife’s parents were anally raped by owls, too..”

Twitley's been "heckled" from the "back row" by owls....

Donald KLEIN Lol

Where does it end?! Lol

YES!!!!! “You were an author prior to this, right?” Lol

The KEY COMMENT of the night.

I cant listen to this dolt !

LOL

GEORGE: “I think they were widespread then, weren’t they?”

WHITLEY: “What, my cheeks?”

(Do the WILD thing…)

LOLOLOLOL

“On the upside, I was good for the next 20 years for a colonoscopy..”

How did you come up with the title Communion?

Anne came up with it. She walked in the room and saw the owl/alien girl deep in my bowels, and she thought to herself….Communion!!

I'm out I cant listen to this shit

How do you segue from getting anally raped by a giant owl to the Defense Appropriations Bill?!

This guy has no shame!!!

Hahahahahahahahahahah SACRILEGE!!!!

No one leaves! Lock the doors! Bar the windows!!

*hilt

Damn autocorrect

"Und George denkts to himself, vhat a wunderbar vorld..."

Jorch has agree to host Alice Choad's Nympho Whores show while the fulminating fat man scrapes up the $m's he needs to pay for his recent court case.

In Jorch's honour the show will be sponsored exclusively by Choad's patented sex stimulant vitamin, Mycoxafloppin....

Jorch's rendition of that great song sounds more Gitmo, than Satchmo.

But to be fair, he & Louis Armstrong both blow a mean horn....

Giant owls are Jorch's spirit animals....

Watching the Hungarian Grand Prix with Big Tahhmmeeee recently Jorch spent the entire race in pole position....

Yeah, the Great Northern Poop Owl.

In George’s case, Face2Crotch

The worst part was the owl didn’t call the next day….



[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Just a friendly reminder of the King of Bullshit:

[link to www.firstnerve.com (secure)]

“In his novel In Search of Lost Time, Marcel Proust portrayed sensory memory as uniquely true because, unlike other forms of memory, it doesn’t change with time. To Proust, smell memory is immutable and inherently trustworthy. Smell-evoked memories are unimpeachable links to past events. Whitley Strieber takes the Proustian ball and runs with it: he repeatedly invokes smells as evidence that his abduction was real.

Strieber’s “abduction” took place on December 26, 1985. When the aliens proposed to insert a needle into his brain he objected, fearing brain damage.
One of them, I think it was the one I had identified earlier as the woman [alien], said, ‘What can we do to help you stop screaming?’ [. . .] My reply was unexpected. I heard myself say, ‘You could let me smell you.’ I was embarrassed; this is not a normal request, and it bothered me. But it made a great deal of sense, as I have afterward realized.

The one to my right replied, ‘Oh, OK, I can do that,’ in a similar voice, speaking very rapidly, and held his hand against my face, cradling my head with his other hand. The odor was distinct, and gave me exactly what I needed, an anchor in reality. It remained the most convincing aspect of the whole memory, because that odor was completely indistinguishable from a real one. It did not seem in any way a dream experience or a hallucination. I remembered it as an actual smell.
So what does an alien visitor smell like?
There was a slight scent of cardboard to it, as if the sleeve of the coverall that was partly pressed against my face were made of some substance like paper. The hand itself had a faint but distinctly organic sourness in its odor. It was not a human smell, but it was unmistakably the smell of something alive. There was a subtle overtone that seemed a little like cinnamon.

The next thing I knew, there was a bang and a flash, and I realized that they have performed the proposed operation on my head.
In the weeks that follow, Strieber is distressed about the incident and begins to doubt his own sanity.
Then, quite suddenly once afternoon, I recalled the smell. Their smell. It came back to me as clearly as if I had inhaled it not a moment before. More than anything except discovering that I was not alone with my experience, that totally real memory saved me from going stark raving mad.
Thank heaven for the solid anchor of Proustian smell memory!

Three months later, Strieber recalls his abduction under hypnosis:
I’m sitting on a bench in a little room. [Sniffs.] And it smells funny. Smells somethin’ like cheese in here. Smells kind of nasty, to tell you the truth. It’s not clean in here.
Cheese? What cheese? Here’s all he said about smell in his original description: “I seem to remember that the room was stuffy and the air quite dry . . .” So this olfactory detail—that the UFO’s reception room smelled like cheese—is an entirely new feature brought up under hypnosis. Strieber has just revised his “totally real” smell memory. Later, in the course of reflecting on the hypnosis session, he revises it even further:
The space I entered smelled like warm Cheddar cheese with a hint of sulfur. This sulfur odor has been reported by others.
So “stuffy” becomes “cheese” which becomes “warm Cheddar cheese with a hint of sulfur.” In other words, he subtly re-tunes his story to agree with other published accounts of alien abduction.”

Whitley likes George’s farts.

What an asshole!