Like I want to discuss fantasies with a dude.
"That's what Mrs. Graves says."
Hey, that's only with me. And surprisingly, this isn't that kind of fantasy.
"You're right, it is surprising."
Normally, I'm not a fan of burning things, though kindling is okay. And despite the overt misogyny displayed up top, I can actually cook and generally don't burn things on or in the oven, even if the result is nowhere near Michelin quality.
"I bet some of it tastes like tire."
But when it comes to blue books, pass that gas can.
"Hey you kids, get
off my lawn outta my library!"
Of course, the sexiest part is when I have all you millennials too fucking spaced out to carry not even one pen or pencil even though you're ostensibly college students but I wonder about that because you cannot tell me what the name of your class is or who's your professor despite the fact that classes ended last week but lo and behold, listen to that hark! you've got a dozen credit cards and iPods and iPhones and Blackberries and Borg earpieces and wires linking all of them with the subcutaneous entryways of your central nervous system topped by Luke Skywalker haircuts and naughty punk pixie bobs clean up the smouldering, ashen mess.
Lysol is over there. Oh no, please, let me get it, for I want to pass by the television which is tuned to CNN yet thankfully muted -- praise Cthulhu -- so I can watch some talking hairpiece engage in pointless blabbery with The Esteemed and Honorable 87-star General Colin Powell, A Very Serious and Credentialed Person just look at those Medals none of which are for Typing, and wonder why that freaky gaff of a motherfucker, along with the rest of the Traveling Brigade of Freaks, Gaffs, Motherfuckers and Associated Blockheads, will never see a nanosecond behind bars for being war criminals but some lower class pothead will.
Oh, and $14 billion is far too much, but $700 billion plus another trillion for overseas romantic adventuring, graft and fully-vetted and approved chicanery is just peachy, raspberry and mango. If only the Army were unionized.
And this shit? I hope every single one of you who gets a fuzzy feeling in your special area at the thought of laws like this dies a horribly painful and agonizingly slow death by a minion of nature such as perhaps getting a leg ripped off by a bear but you've seen enough bad made-for-TV movies -- but I repeat myself -- to know you have to stop the blood flow and you do but you're stranded out in the middle of nowhere and after getting sick and tired of the taste of frozen earth and the occasional worm you are barely able to dig out of the ground, you resort to eating yourself alive, finally expiring from the fright of having bitten off a chunk of your own flesh and then some poor kid from a nearby reservation steals the money in your wallet that was destined for a high-class call girl after your impassioned pro-family speech on the House floor.
Come on black death, we need you to put the fear of the Flying Spaghetti Monster back in the world. Start with all the politicians, the Nazi stooges on the right -- yeah, I said Nazi, fuck you, Nazi Nazi Nazi Gestapo achtung sieben lieben fascist assholes -- and their spineless candyass pussy cunting enablers on the cough cough left. Then you can move on to the rest of us.
One more sexalicious thing: HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!
"Don't feel better?"
No. Got any booze?