"You need to up the cardio, buddy, or at least go out and buy a pair of Mandate!- they're like Spankx, but for men!" (Informative poke to the gut.)
"You need to get the hell out of my kitchen, Dough Boy." (Assertive poke to the Pillsbury Dough Boy's gut,) "Seriously, stop giggling and get the fuck out my kitchen!"
Then Facebook came around, diminishing the value of the poke as we know it. An action that was once reserved for forthright conversation, has been degraded into a sheepish virtual verb, reserved for socially inept boys who want to get a girl's attention. And then what?
A poke used to say a thousand words. These days, a "poke" tops out at just about three.
Long story short, you poke me, I will come over to your house, barge through your front door, march up to your room, hoof stomp your computer monitor, and poke you so hard that your ancestors feel it. If that doesn't get my message across, I will proceed to cut off each of your fingers, rendering you pokeless and unable to eat a buttery and delicious Pillsbury Crescent roll without assistance, for the rest of your life.
Without fingers, they only extremity you will be able to poke someone with is your... yeah... but before you do that, make sure they reciprocate your Facebook poke first.
A poke used to say a thousand words. These days, a "poke" tops out at just about three.
Long story short, you poke me, I will come over to your house, barge through your front door, march up to your room, hoof stomp your computer monitor, and poke you so hard that your ancestors feel it. If that doesn't get my message across, I will proceed to cut off each of your fingers, rendering you pokeless and unable to eat a buttery and delicious Pillsbury Crescent roll without assistance, for the rest of your life.
Without fingers, they only extremity you will be able to poke someone with is your... yeah... but before you do that, make sure they reciprocate your Facebook poke first.
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