cinch vs. gri-gri
cinch vs. gri-gri
so it's been a while since the cinch has been released and i've seen a few at the crags. so what do you guys think about the cinch? how is it compared to the gri-gri?
and great loves will one day have to part -smashing pumpkins
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it would be perfect for you paul. here's why...
you see everyone, paul and i have somewhat of a questionable history. it all began when the stars were aligned, the moon was blue, and the year was about to leap. 1942. i was posted in london where, after i met up with some older gentlemen running a bordello for local u.s. servicemen, i bartended and played a jaw harp, when the ladies were too busy for dancing. i remember the day like it was tomorrow. i had been dreaming about a not so tall, but not so short spitalian sent to assassinate me during a rendition of i found my grill on blueberry hill. i was painted up with a burnt cork, wearing torn up overalls and bare feet. the gig was going great! a couple generals tried to recruit me for a personal jester. there was no way i could turn down the highlife though. live audiences, mixed genders, shemales, the funk aroma coming from behind the stage, and a real live alien from the planet do (pronounced doo). i was dancing like any good slave, chewin away at the instrument in my mouth, and spittin some chaw. i was grinning from ear to ear with visions of hollywood, and marilyn monroes poontang in my face. if only it was red. i love the firebush. anyway, in the midst of my euphoria, in walks the fucking wetback himself. a ragged uniform, and drenched in sweat...only on the back of course. he stank like cowshit, and looked like one of those maggots that rolls around in the stuff. what a site. i knew him instantly from my dream, so i dove off the stage, stabbed one of the generals in the eye with the jaw harp, stole his saber, and sliced paul the spitalian aka the assassasin aka the wetback aka everything that is wrong with the world today from head to toe. either all of the adrenaline, or the sweat mixed with cork embers in my eyes, or the little midget in a space uniform (rare for the time you know?) saying "hello captain!" while drinking something with an umbrella...a very tiny umbrella for a very tiny creature...anyway, i missed except for the foreskin still left on the infidel. luckily for me was wearing crotchless pants, otherwise i might have missed everything. he screamed like a rabbit when you go to rip their heads off for dinner, only you're a kid and you don't rip the head off completely, only wounding the furry little rat. i swung again. this time with a baton the midget threw me (by now i had learned the midget's name was opus croakus). Thanks opus! i bashed his head. wow! i smacked him square this time. you little bitch. that'll teach you to try and kill me during my act you spick. he whispered a few words. something like, "i want to suck..." whatever he said, i bet i wouldn't have liked it, so i cut him off midsentence, started urinating on the gash in the side of his head and watching a yelloish-red-brown liquid come out of his nose. i never would've guessed peeing into his brain would funnel out the nasal? oh well. no time to ponder anatomy. off with his head! after a few gin and tonics, i again said, "off with his head!", but had that perfect body/brain buzz to where i didn't feel like excercising an part of my body. i told the generals, who amazingly still wanted to hire me for my blowing skills (on the jaw harp), that the dirty spick/wetback dying in the floor was no other than jane fonda who gave all their secrets to the n.v.a. earlier that year. they decided to dump him in a trash receptacle in the bathroom, and i never heard anything else from that dirty piece of dogshit....until now. you see everyone, by "cinch" he means prosthetic foreskin to replace his missing one, and by "gri-gri" he means smegma collector, which i don't know what it's for.
you see everyone, paul and i have somewhat of a questionable history. it all began when the stars were aligned, the moon was blue, and the year was about to leap. 1942. i was posted in london where, after i met up with some older gentlemen running a bordello for local u.s. servicemen, i bartended and played a jaw harp, when the ladies were too busy for dancing. i remember the day like it was tomorrow. i had been dreaming about a not so tall, but not so short spitalian sent to assassinate me during a rendition of i found my grill on blueberry hill. i was painted up with a burnt cork, wearing torn up overalls and bare feet. the gig was going great! a couple generals tried to recruit me for a personal jester. there was no way i could turn down the highlife though. live audiences, mixed genders, shemales, the funk aroma coming from behind the stage, and a real live alien from the planet do (pronounced doo). i was dancing like any good slave, chewin away at the instrument in my mouth, and spittin some chaw. i was grinning from ear to ear with visions of hollywood, and marilyn monroes poontang in my face. if only it was red. i love the firebush. anyway, in the midst of my euphoria, in walks the fucking wetback himself. a ragged uniform, and drenched in sweat...only on the back of course. he stank like cowshit, and looked like one of those maggots that rolls around in the stuff. what a site. i knew him instantly from my dream, so i dove off the stage, stabbed one of the generals in the eye with the jaw harp, stole his saber, and sliced paul the spitalian aka the assassasin aka the wetback aka everything that is wrong with the world today from head to toe. either all of the adrenaline, or the sweat mixed with cork embers in my eyes, or the little midget in a space uniform (rare for the time you know?) saying "hello captain!" while drinking something with an umbrella...a very tiny umbrella for a very tiny creature...anyway, i missed except for the foreskin still left on the infidel. luckily for me was wearing crotchless pants, otherwise i might have missed everything. he screamed like a rabbit when you go to rip their heads off for dinner, only you're a kid and you don't rip the head off completely, only wounding the furry little rat. i swung again. this time with a baton the midget threw me (by now i had learned the midget's name was opus croakus). Thanks opus! i bashed his head. wow! i smacked him square this time. you little bitch. that'll teach you to try and kill me during my act you spick. he whispered a few words. something like, "i want to suck..." whatever he said, i bet i wouldn't have liked it, so i cut him off midsentence, started urinating on the gash in the side of his head and watching a yelloish-red-brown liquid come out of his nose. i never would've guessed peeing into his brain would funnel out the nasal? oh well. no time to ponder anatomy. off with his head! after a few gin and tonics, i again said, "off with his head!", but had that perfect body/brain buzz to where i didn't feel like excercising an part of my body. i told the generals, who amazingly still wanted to hire me for my blowing skills (on the jaw harp), that the dirty spick/wetback dying in the floor was no other than jane fonda who gave all their secrets to the n.v.a. earlier that year. they decided to dump him in a trash receptacle in the bathroom, and i never heard anything else from that dirty piece of dogshit....until now. you see everyone, by "cinch" he means prosthetic foreskin to replace his missing one, and by "gri-gri" he means smegma collector, which i don't know what it's for.
Yo HO!! Just got me a code red and some funyons big dawg!!! SHIT YEAH! - Ray, excited about his breakfast
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CINCH SUCKS, i dislike it because
a.)its somewhat uncontrollable
and 2 ) the handle that unlocks the locking mechanism is on the wrong side for a right handed person.
a.)its somewhat uncontrollable
and 2 ) the handle that unlocks the locking mechanism is on the wrong side for a right handed person.
Alan Evil is a whiney fucking bitch.
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The quest for certainty blocks the search for meaning. Uncertainty is the very condition to impel man to unfold his powers.
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The quest for certainty blocks the search for meaning. Uncertainty is the very condition to impel man to unfold his powers.
I have a Cinch but never use it. Should've bought a gri-gri. It's hard to unlock once it catches a fall & I'm just plain scared to use it b/c I don't want to short rope someone. I'd test it in the gym but the owner won't allow it...so...I'm stuck.
Anyone want to buy a cinch?
Anyone want to buy a cinch?
Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha
i used the cinch in a gym one day and really liked it. it took a little getting used to but once i got the hang of it i was digging it. it does take more effort and finese to lower but thats one of those things that will come with experience. i like the size and wieght compaired to the grigri.
Sand inhibits the production of toughtosterone, so get it out and send.