Sweet Jeezy Creezy!
I. Post. Again!
Yes, after a hiatus of epic proportions, I now feel compelled to spew to you anew. Baby Jesus is doubtless crying his lil' eyes out up in the Mothership. Jim Morrison isn't getting any sleep tonight.
Topic at hand... yes, right. I have a new job, "detailing automobiles." I work at a gee-dee carwash. And it sucks. It sucks and cups the scrote. I would like to take a moment to address any who might be reading and may have encouraged this behavior on my part to promptly die of a vicious venereal disease. I hate you all. Mean whilst, the job is horrible. Today I had to deal with more pathetic, oversized pieces of crap than the number of women I've had formal relations with. Wait, that's not hard. Ummm, than the number I'm holding up right now. That's a little closer...
So, inspired by my hatred for these things, and taking into account the fact that I spend the better part of my day talking to myself, I have concocted the following:
My "Final Solution"
by Alex, your token Jew
Redneck, whitebread, chickenshit muthafucka: Yee-Haw!
Judge Dredd-type dudes: Sir, your vehicle is too large to serve any discernable purpose. It will be confiscated. As this is your second offense, you will be beaten severely about the face and neck. I will warn you that a third offense will result in the death penalty, standard execution being administered as such: You will be shot in the groin until you are dead. This will improve the average human being's worth by 0.0000000157044550092518595746 percent. Also, your NASCAR stickers violate code 46, section 2, and will add one stab wound per to your sentence.
Redneck, whitebread, chickenshit muthafucka: .....Yee-Haw!
Judge Dredd-type dudes: Gentlemen, commence to jiggle.
So, it's a personal fantasy. That and the one about Thora Birch and the pistachio pudding. No, wait... I've said too much.
Mmmmm. Pistachio pudding.
Yes, after a hiatus of epic proportions, I now feel compelled to spew to you anew. Baby Jesus is doubtless crying his lil' eyes out up in the Mothership. Jim Morrison isn't getting any sleep tonight.
Topic at hand... yes, right. I have a new job, "detailing automobiles." I work at a gee-dee carwash. And it sucks. It sucks and cups the scrote. I would like to take a moment to address any who might be reading and may have encouraged this behavior on my part to promptly die of a vicious venereal disease. I hate you all. Mean whilst, the job is horrible. Today I had to deal with more pathetic, oversized pieces of crap than the number of women I've had formal relations with. Wait, that's not hard. Ummm, than the number I'm holding up right now. That's a little closer...
So, inspired by my hatred for these things, and taking into account the fact that I spend the better part of my day talking to myself, I have concocted the following:
My "Final Solution"
by Alex, your token Jew
Redneck, whitebread, chickenshit muthafucka: Yee-Haw!
Judge Dredd-type dudes: Sir, your vehicle is too large to serve any discernable purpose. It will be confiscated. As this is your second offense, you will be beaten severely about the face and neck. I will warn you that a third offense will result in the death penalty, standard execution being administered as such: You will be shot in the groin until you are dead. This will improve the average human being's worth by 0.0000000157044550092518595746 percent. Also, your NASCAR stickers violate code 46, section 2, and will add one stab wound per to your sentence.
Redneck, whitebread, chickenshit muthafucka: .....Yee-Haw!
Judge Dredd-type dudes: Gentlemen, commence to jiggle.
So, it's a personal fantasy. That and the one about Thora Birch and the pistachio pudding. No, wait... I've said too much.
Mmmmm. Pistachio pudding.