John McPunkmeister is one heck of a stud, doncha think?  Well, if you thought this by looking at the picture, you're a shallow, horrible person.  Let me tell you a little about John.  He's a half-crazed hillbilly from the South (I'm not talking about wannabe hick country like Southern Indiana or Kentucky - we're talking prime country like Louisiana).  He enjoys the song "Louisiana Saturday Night" by... I think Alabama or something like that (who cares?  It's the only song that has "a possum in a sack" in it.)  Heard enough?  I've barely even scratched the surface with this circus freak! 

John also enjoys shooting stop signs with a shotgun.  He'll proudly tell you that he's always the LAST person to pass out at his family reunions and the way he says 'girls' seems to suggest that he somehow managed to pronounce it more like 'gurls'.  Yes, you guessed it.  John would easily fit in with the 'Deliverance' crew.

Well, since John has, indeed, paid me top dollar to advertise his 'wares' online, I suppose I might as well put some of his preferences on here, too. 

Must haves:  Girl that likes snipe hunting (again... and again...) (I won't explain what this is -- you'll have to either A. Try it yourself (dumbass way) or B. Look it up on the internet (non-dumbass way)) Must be an expert on fixing tractors (John Deere a must)  Must also be proficient (yes, I helped him with this word) in working on cars.  This hick's a Chevy man, so no Ford ladies.  Oh, yeah.  Must have a 'purdy mouth'.

Editor's note:  I am sorry to say that [too lazy to insert new name here] has passed on.  On Feb. 24, 2004, Mr. [oh, what the hell.  lets say 'X']  died of a massive man-boob hemmorage after the primary support of his 'bro' broke, causing his manboobs to ricochete off of his stomach and into a small chandelier that was positioned above him.  Goodbye Mike, and may the wind at your back never be your own.

Oh, come on.  Like anyone has actually read the other stupid bits of crap I put here...  Gimme a break.

Why come back to this site?

All I ask is that you try to stifle your laughter when asking yourself this question...

How this webpage was made:

What?  Next you're going to be asking me how the heck babies are made or something.  Do it like everyone else and find out on your own.  (well, webpage-wise.  I wouldn't recommend the 'practice makes perfect' method for baby-making.)