Friday free for all is that time of the week when I post a sweet video then take my shirt off while all the ladies scream. Send your tips to lance@filmdrunk.com, though I probably won’t look at anything you send me before Thursday afternoon.
Mom? Is that you? You promised me all the copies had been destroyed!
[via HollywoodTuna, which may have NSFW ads]
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C’mon Vince, this aint Mrs. Mancini’s first rodeo….
Did you hear the one about the woman who committed a drive-by?
Neither did I. She couldn’t work the emergency brake or the safety.
It’s odd, MY fantasy is shooting my “gun” AT women in bikinis, so this video really does nothing for me.
They’re firing blanks, right? Then we should get along just fine, ladies…
There seems to be a touch of sexual innuendo in this ad. And a whole lot of Cinderella *Devil Fingers*
Half of these women are dudes now.
These ladies were ahead of their time. Think about how much more awesome they’d be with some kick ass rap-rock in the background…
This is why people gun-rape.
At :43, is that Malibu?
I’ve got a serious Ramboner right now.
The key difference between Lance and I is that his mom fired into the distance, mine fired into the ground at my feet and told me to dance, piggy, dance.
Q: What did the woman say to the gunsmith?
A: What would you like for dinner, sir?
Silly women, machine guns are for men.
Q: Did you hear the one about the woman who enlisted in the Marines as a deadly sniper?
A: She went home and took care of her children while her husband worked.
No bimbos were harmed in the making of this film.
If I had to do the 80′s over, I never would have donated my old Panasonic mixing board to that special needs class. And leg warmers. Probably would get rid of those too.
Floozies with Uzis!
“At :43, is that Malibu?”
The dude with the Norinco Type 56? I was thinking Brian Bosworth.
If the 80s taught me anything, it’s that when a woman in a bikini points a machine gun at you, you’d better have a fucking electric guitar on hand.
You just know they are sporting the totally tubular Miami Vice kooter stuble.
The safest place to stand when these broads are blazing away is probably directly in front of them.
A woman walks into a bar with a machine gun. The bartender says, “What’s with the machine gun, lady?” The woman replies, “I’m sorry, I found this on the street and it doesn’t look like something that a woman should be touching so I brought it to the nearest man. Also, do you have any dishes that need cleaning?”
Can’t see the video at work but if it’s not the Cramps’ Bikini girls with Machine Guns, I’m not interested.
I like to put my cock n hole of machine gun bimbo.
Q: What do you say to a woman with a M-16?
A: The voting booth is that way, ma’am.
I tried to be a machine gun bimbo once but I couldn’t figure out how to get the thingamabob in the doohickey so I quit.
Ellen Ripley and Sarah Conner are pissed about these cum sponges fucking up the image of the dyke gunslinger they tried so hard to foster.
This video is actually streaming live from Ted Nugent’s brain.
Afterwards, the bimbos bitched about how loud the guns were after complaining that their husbands never pay attention to them anymore.
Music provided by Guns ‘n Hoes’s
“Rock N Roll Machine Gun Bimbos of 1987″ is hands down my favorite Wesley Willis song.
This reminds me of the Bikini Girls With Machine Guns video.
hey, wait, isn’t that Sexman’s mom??
Does this machine gun make me look fat?
Come on! This was 1987. Scantily clad women didn’t have time for machine guns! There were too many expensive car hoods to roll around on seductively.
Machine Gun Bimbo: Knock Knock.
Mr_D: Who’s there?
MGB: Machine Gun Bimbo
Mr_D: Put that gun down and iron my shirt bitch.
You do not want to see a machine gun bimbo have an accidental discharge.
1987? I’m guessing these ladies aren’t practicing proper breech maintenance.
*shudders*
I like my bimbos Winchestier.
In 1987, the only bimbo mag load in my life was the pages stuck together in my Shannon Tweed edition.
This is my rifle, this is my cunt! This is for fighting, this is for my friends to fuck on the sly when I’m in line at the post office.