Taking a nice hard stab with a flesh machete into 200 lbs of healthy guts and going around the world with it. Repeatedly. Sometimes at work. Mostly because it’s convenient. We call it stirring paint because of the sound, mostly. And because it’s typically messy, especially when you pull the stirrer out.
I heard it again. They’re stirring paint in the mop closet. Again. Shameless. I wonder if it was Sherman Williams, or the cheap Sears shit.
That girl I copped off with last night, turned out she was up on blocks. Still, spot of stirring the paint never did anyone any harm. Knob looked like something off a butcher's slab afterwards, mind!