Dear Citori, NFR

Discussion in 'Fly Fishing Forum' started by Citori, Apr 19, 2008.

  1. Yes, that was indeed a low blow, but I couldn't resist playing with the anagram, as it just jumped out at me on the page... I guess I am guilty of "mental wankering."

    Don't ever move to the land of Oz.

    They call Americans "Seppos" which is short for "septic tanks" which rhymes with "Yanks," and they call everybody "wankers" down there, anyway. (Things may have changed, as that's from the Aussie surf dogs I met on Oahu in the 70's...)
  2. Dear Jimbo,

    Please, do not ever, for any reason, ever, never ever admit to not being able to resist a "blow", low or otherwise, in the same context as the words "wank" or "wanker". This is a family-friendly board, and there is desire to keep it that way.

  3. Dear Citori, please see my editing of my post, which I pulled off while you were working on yours. Thanks.
  4. Dear Jimbo

    ...pulled off...? You just don't know when to quit, do you?

  5. Playing with my name was funny enough.....Now you guys are freeking killing me....:rofl: :rofl: :rofl: :rofl:!!!
  6. I'm done.:rofl:
  7. hey different strokes for different folks:)
  8. Dear fat oriental guy,

    For your sake, I am going to assume you mean spey vs. single hand casting strokes...

  9. oriental if i had a rug on my head, but asian will do:) and of course two handed all the way:) great thread, im learning alot...........
    of sarcasm..hehehee i love it
  10. Dear Citori,

    My ex-wife's eyes are failing more and more. Her Harry Saroda glasses, (prescribed according to how she feels when lenses are flashed in front of her with her eyes closed) aren't working like they used to. She notes that my hearing is deteriorating more all the time. She says well, if I couldn't see and you couldn't hear maybe we could...

    What do you think Citori?

  11. re: the standing b52......

    the sting of sage advice......I will only say that in my own defense......the morning coffee works it's magic on some faster than others.......

    I will defer $.05 of the next exchange to your humble wooden shack...

  12. Dear Impaired,

    The definition of a bachelor is "a man who never makes the same mistake once." My brother, seriously, don't go there. I don't care how bad things get, there were good reasons for your "current" to become your "ex", and time does not fix anything, it makes it worse. No matter how it looks going in, it isn't going to look that good when you wake up next to it. I will refer you to two previous posts. One from the last of the "Chumugly" thread

    and the other the exchange between Dr. Citori and Itchy Dog beginning on page 2 of this post. I strongly suggest you take a long hard look at Mingo's avatar, and regale yourself in a lovefest of self abuse. The hope being you will wank yourself back to sanity and happiness.

    You will never know just exactly how close you came...

  13. Dear Deluded,

    Coffee may work it's magic on your bowels, but it has no effect on your senses... You have issues, my man. You have issues. I have tried it myself, on a few occasions, and have found you can effectively answer the call of nature without opening your eyes once - with proper motivation, which apparently you lack. This does frame the issue quite succinctly. From this exchange, it does appear you may also be a closet flaming metrosexual. Stay away from polar bears, farm animals, moldy waders and bad beer. While I fear there may be no hope for you, you may still be able to keep your misguided nads attached for a while longer.

  14. Dear Citori,

    I am in a little trouble and really have no idea why. It all started when I was rolling down the freeway about 30 over and some lame-o cop tried to pull me over. I rolled down the window and gave him the one-finger salute in an attempt to tell him "you're #1 in my book", but that only seemed to intensify his efforts to stop me.

    Next thing I know he sideswipes me and forces me into the ditch. All the while I'm thinking, hey, when is this guy going to get off his high horse and realize I'm just funnin' with him, so I make a playful grab at his revolver. I guess he just doesn't "get it" because he punches me, throws me to the ground and put on the cuffs. And here I sit in the slammer thinking WTF? :confused:

    I even offered the guard a couple tokes on a doobie and now they're treating me like a red-headed step child. Any advice?:confused:
  15. Dear Incarcerated,

    The adage says, "My wife, yes - my dog, maybe - my gun, never"

    You crossed a hard line, my boy. My advice for you is simply this - when you drop your soap in the shower, don't bend over to pick it up.

  16. While we're on the subject of names (we were on the subject of names, weren't we?) and sexual innuendo (we were on the subject of sexual innuendo, right?), I'd like to know what happened to the 'l' (as in the letter 'l') in the name of our esteemed counselor. You know, the one that would transform his name into the plural of ...

    Latin scholar
  17. Dear Latin,

    A quick google of the name Citori will reveal an image of one of the sweetest little Over Under 12 ga. field guns the Browning company ever produced. While I don't get to use her often, she never fails to bring me pleasure just by looking at her, stroking her and bringing her comb up to my cheek. She rests side by side with my A5, my little .28 ga. Red Label, and my Rugers - No. 1 in 22.250 and my 77/17.

    While your error might be forgiven, I will thank you to speak only with respect when you talk of my Citori.

    In terms of innuendo, (which is not the name of an Italian suppository) "Citori" has every bit of ability to bring intense pleasure as the gem of anatomy to which you obliquely refer.

  18. :thumb:
  19. Ok it's time we outed Dr Phil....Maybe you could fill us in on what really happened between you, Oprah and Stedman...
  20. Ah, my friend, it was only a matter of time.

    While you are definitely on the right track, I am most assuredly not the pretender, Dr. Phil. I made the mistake of an ill-advised wager some time ago, and have been condemned to a 5 year stint of ghost writing for that bald pated twit. Now that my period of indenture has run its course, I am relieved of my non-compete, and ready to once again take up the caduceus, albeit a few years wiser, a few years older.

    As for the ill fated trio - again, propriety prevents me going into detail, but suffice it to say there were electrical and battery operated devices, more than one can of crisco, photographs, and refills (yes, plural) of more than one libido enhancing pharmaceutical involved over a period of some 73 hours. This all took place in a dirty little roadside motel about 45 miles from Dr. Phil's home town in a wide spot in a wagon trail called Edna, KS on the weekend of Dr. Phil's high school reunion which he made the grim mistake of attending without spousal accompaniment. A few bottles of beer, a bottle of bad tequila and a late night cell phone call, and the rest is locked in morbid history.

    After animal control was called early that third morning, I don't think Oprah, Phil or Stedman will ever be able to look at each other again. All three left with vacuous expressions of exhaustion and depravity via Edna's one and only taxi service to three different destinations. The taxi driver changed his name to Ive, moved to the northwest where he claims he won the lottery and lives in the woods.

    Stedman, poor Stedman. He yet wakes up screaming and walks the streets at night by himself, mumbling incoherently. Phil still calls Oprah, but she no longer answers, and she has instructed her pilot that he is no longer permitted to even fly her jet over Oklahoma OR Kansas. It has been suggested that Oprah made her connection to Obama through Rev. Wright following an extended "cleansing ritual" whatever that is.

    I have washed my hands of the lot of them, literally.

    Nice of you to ask, though.


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