Sheep pushing
December 12, 2003 4:56 AM Subscribe
Make sure to use lots of lube when pushing a sheep.
Sweet fancy moses. I guess his town doesn't have much of a club scene.
posted by cortex at 5:23 AM on December 12, 2003
posted by cortex at 5:23 AM on December 12, 2003
My eyes! The goggles, they do nothing!!
I nearly lost my cheerios on that one. Bad to watch first thing in the morning. Oh, and NSFW.
posted by leapfrog at 5:28 AM on December 12, 2003
I nearly lost my cheerios on that one. Bad to watch first thing in the morning. Oh, and NSFW.
posted by leapfrog at 5:28 AM on December 12, 2003
It is a dutch advertisement for Clearasil, the anti-zit cream, and the hook is supposedly a combination of word-play and a belief that rubbing against sheep's somethings heals zits.
However, I will do my best to divert the thread and mention that Jyväskylä does have a decent nightlife for a town of 80 thousand people, mainly because 15% of them are university students.
posted by ikalliom at 5:59 AM on December 12, 2003
However, I will do my best to divert the thread and mention that Jyväskylä does have a decent nightlife for a town of 80 thousand people, mainly because 15% of them are university students.
posted by ikalliom at 5:59 AM on December 12, 2003
Did we really need to see that? Naaaaahhhhhhh. (But rest assured it will get forwarded)
posted by ElvisJesus at 6:06 AM on December 12, 2003
posted by ElvisJesus at 6:06 AM on December 12, 2003
On second thought, this video is not for the sheepish. My first reaction: ewe.
posted by DragonBoy at 6:54 AM on December 12, 2003
posted by DragonBoy at 6:54 AM on December 12, 2003
Scrubbing my eyes with a wire brush did nothing to erase that image. But thanks, that was actually pretty damned funny.
posted by adampsyche at 7:36 AM on December 12, 2003
posted by adampsyche at 7:36 AM on December 12, 2003
It gives me a good idea of a place to hide if I'm ever on the lam.
baaaaaaaaad vito90!
posted by vito90 at 7:37 AM on December 12, 2003
baaaaaaaaad vito90!
posted by vito90 at 7:37 AM on December 12, 2003
MOve on over, goatse man....and make way for Sheepse !
posted by troutfishing at 7:48 AM on December 12, 2003
posted by troutfishing at 7:48 AM on December 12, 2003
"Sheep pushing?"
Looked a lot more like "Fin pulling."
Someone should inform our stunt-fetishist that the phrase "pulling the wool over your eyes" is just a figure of speech.
And, so far as the disclaimer, "No sheep were harmed during this ritual," I'd say, "Um, ask the sheep."
posted by Dunvegan at 7:52 AM on December 12, 2003
Looked a lot more like "Fin pulling."
Someone should inform our stunt-fetishist that the phrase "pulling the wool over your eyes" is just a figure of speech.
And, so far as the disclaimer, "No sheep were harmed during this ritual," I'd say, "Um, ask the sheep."
posted by Dunvegan at 7:52 AM on December 12, 2003
Oh, and on post-preview, troutfishing...sheepse.cx has been suspended.
posted by Dunvegan at 7:55 AM on December 12, 2003
posted by Dunvegan at 7:55 AM on December 12, 2003
This place continues to amaze me.
posted by gottabefunky at 8:36 AM on December 12, 2003
posted by gottabefunky at 8:36 AM on December 12, 2003
Aw man, all the puns have been made!
posted by Orange Goblin at 10:07 AM on December 12, 2003
posted by Orange Goblin at 10:07 AM on December 12, 2003
How can they say "no sheep were harmed?" Clearly that sheep's marriage prospects are ruined.
posted by scarabic at 10:27 AM on December 12, 2003
posted by scarabic at 10:27 AM on December 12, 2003
Aw man, all the puns have been made!
No more virgin wool from that one
posted by ElvisJesus at 10:59 AM on December 12, 2003
No more virgin wool from that one
posted by ElvisJesus at 10:59 AM on December 12, 2003
WTF?
posted by five fresh fish at 12:18 PM on December 12, 2003
posted by five fresh fish at 12:18 PM on December 12, 2003
I nearly lost my cheerios on that one.
Cheerios?
posted by homunculus at 12:55 PM on December 12, 2003
Cheerios?
posted by homunculus at 12:55 PM on December 12, 2003
This is somehow very unappealing. They wouldn't have dared do such things in pre-turkish Constantinople, and after the turks came people would have simply been impaled for taking such liberties with helpless sheep.
But correct me if I am wrong - my knowledge of this period is thin.
posted by troutfishing at 6:32 PM on December 12, 2003
But correct me if I am wrong - my knowledge of this period is thin.
posted by troutfishing at 6:32 PM on December 12, 2003
Odd to think that if it weren't an ad, it would be fodder for a beastiality site. Good thing it's funny.
So, how long before horse bukkake becomes a FPP?
posted by insomnia_lj at 2:10 AM on December 13, 2003
So, how long before horse bukkake becomes a FPP?
posted by insomnia_lj at 2:10 AM on December 13, 2003
The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.
From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion.
The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.
In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.
As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about to linger there. But he suddenly started up, and closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids, as though he sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake.
"It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done,"
said Lord Henry languidly.
"You must certainly send it next year to the Grosvenor. The Academy is too large and too vulgar. Whenever I have gone there, there have been either so many people that I have not been able to see the pictures, which was dreadful, or so many pictures that I have not been able to see the people, which was worse. The Grosvenor is really the only place."
"I don't think I shall send it anywhere,"
he answered, tossing his head back in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at Oxford.
"No, I won't send it anywhere."
posted by donkeymon at 3:08 AM on January 8, 2004
From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion.
The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.
In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.
As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about to linger there. But he suddenly started up, and closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids, as though he sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake.
"It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done,"
said Lord Henry languidly.
"You must certainly send it next year to the Grosvenor. The Academy is too large and too vulgar. Whenever I have gone there, there have been either so many people that I have not been able to see the pictures, which was dreadful, or so many pictures that I have not been able to see the people, which was worse. The Grosvenor is really the only place."
"I don't think I shall send it anywhere,"
he answered, tossing his head back in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at Oxford.
"No, I won't send it anywhere."
posted by donkeymon at 3:08 AM on January 8, 2004
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posted by davidmsc at 5:19 AM on December 12, 2003