Tag Archives: Shit

19. Woop-De-F******-Do

19  Well, well, well.  Fancy seeing you here.  You sure have a load of balls showing your face around these parts after what you did to my dog.  Peanut butter?  Really!?!  If I would have known what you were up to, I would have brought the fuckin’ Smuckers!  What was that?  Yeah, I know I look like shit.  I bought some stock in Jack Daniels and I’m just making sure my investment is not going tits up.  Soooo, what do you want?  You want to… Really.  Well shit, let’s go have a seat and pretend this is going to be fun.  So, who starts this again?  Right.  Well, OK.  Start Up The Fuckin’ Generator!

One Breaking.

What is that supposed to mean?  Is that really how you are going to start?  Fine.  Let me explain something.  Sometimes you decide that there are places and people and things, nouns really, that you don’t want to deal with.  There are good nouns and there are vicious, angry, bleeding out of your ass crap nouns.  Well, what I’m trying to say is, um, you can’t live without nouns.  But sometimes certain nouns make me want to shove a snickers up my ass in hopes of reverse fermentation because my mouth will not open to utter the syllables.  Why are you laughing?!?!  I can stop talking whenever I want to!  Fine!  My mouth is the glory whole, bitch.  I can spin a tale like worms spin silk.  AND, I didnt’ break up with you, I just didn’t want to look at your needy face anymore.  This is a two-way street, darling.  Two breaking!  Two breaking!!

Suspect Least.

Are you saying I’m not trying?  I haven’t seen you in over a month.  AND, you’re wrong.  I was trying desperately not to see you.  I was trying extremely hard.  How did you even know I was at this bar?!?  You heard me from outside.  Funny.

Equation Tell.

I dunno.  What do you want.  Exactly… What are you.. the sum of our parts?  Are you fuckin’ kidding me?  The only sum I’m interested in is the ounces of whiskey on my tongue…  Yeah, I know I’m a smart ass…  Wait a minute.  Are you trying to get back together with me?  Really.  I’m not sure.  I definitely can’t do two a week anymore, if that’s your idea.  I have other interests now.  For one, I’m writing a couple of things a week for a different blog.  Yes!  No!  That’s not true!  Whatever.  Take it or leave it.  One a week.  And no podcast.  I can’t believe how narcissistic I became with that fucking thing.  Embarrassing.  “Let me let you in to my insanity!?”  What a fuckin’ douche bag.

Get Behind.

OK.  I guess.  With those previously mentioned stipulations, I can do it.  Sure…  Damn.  Just when you think you’re done, they pull you back in.  It’s like a false turd.  At one moment it feels like you’re crowning, and the next moment you discover it’s just a big pain in your ass.  Kind of like you.

Leach Jest.

Hey, hey, wait a minute.  Let’s not go too fast.  “Leach Jest?”  I’m like a beached whale over here.  My mind isn’t up for much more than peeing on myself and rubbing my back fat with more back fat.  Can we please take it slow?  Are you slobbering?  Wow.  OK.  Well, that’s enough for now.  Put your penis back in your pants, Padre.  We can do the full Roundoms next time.  Yes, OK.  A proper one.  A thousand words.  I promise.  I’ll even give you a reach around.  Sure.  Yesssss.  I promise to spit on my hand next time.  One dry rub and suddenly you’re Hitler.  OK.  I gotta go.  Are you happy now?

Dragging Grand.

Yep.  Woop-de-do.

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