The Chicken Crosses the Road, A lesson in Philosophy

I am back once again.. I know I keep my fans in utter suspense. When will we be cursed with another of his most vile atrocities? Well wait no longer my minio- I mean fans. I have done it again….. Sort of. I am still dedicating most of my thoughts to my lovely family and to surviving the axe being wielded by the Governor of this Great State of Florida (aka my 9-5 employer) so in order to keep my dedicated fans at bay for just a little bit longer I give you, Yet another UN-original piece brought to you by Soopah Troopah productions..
This was actually courtesy of a good friend and soo thoroughly entertaining that I had to share it. Not Sure if it was an original idea on his part but as I said, still too funny not to share with my ‘adoring’ fans.

WHY DID THE CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD?

Plato: For the greater good.

Karl Marx: It was a historical inevitability.

Machiavelli: So that its subjects will view it with admiration, as a chicken which has the daring and courage to boldly cross the road, but also with fear, for whom among them has the strength to contend with such a paragon of avian virtue? In such a manner is the princely chicken’s dominion maintained.

Hippocrates: Because of an excess of light pink gooey stuff in its pancreas.

Jacques Derrida: Any number of contending discourses may be discovered within the act of the chicken crossing the road, and each interpretation is equally valid as the authorial intent can never be discerned, because structuralism is DEAD, DAMMIT, DEAD!

Thomas de Torquemada: Give me ten minutes with the chicken and I’ll find out.

Timothy Leary: Because that’s the only kind of trip the Establishment would let it take.

Douglas Adams: Forty-two.

Nietzsche: Because if you gaze too long across the Road, the Road gazes also across you.

Oliver North: National Security was at stake.

B.F. Skinner: Because the external influences which had pervaded its sensorium from birth had caused it to develop in such a fashion that it would tend to cross roads, even while believing these actions to be of its own free will.

Carl Jung: The confluence of events in the cultural gestalt necessitated that individual chickens cross roads at this historical juncture, and therefore synchronicitously brought such occurrences into being.

Jean-Paul Sartre: In order to act in good faith and be true to itself, the chicken found it necessary to cross the road.

Ludwig Wittgenstein: The possibility of “crossing” was encoded into the objects “chicken” and “road”, and circumstances came into being which caused the actualization of this potential occurrence.

Albert Einstein: Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road crossed the chicken depends upon your frame of reference.

Aristotle: To actualize its potential.

Buddha: If you ask this question, you deny your own chicken-nature.

Howard Cosell: It may very well have been one of the most astonishing events to grace the annals of history. An historic, unprecedented avian biped with the temerity to attempt such an herculean achievement formerly relegated to homo sapien pedestrians is truly a remarkable occurrence.

Salvador Dali: The Fish.

Darwin: It was the logical next step after coming down from the trees.

Emily Dickinson: Because it could not stop for death.

Epicurus: For fun.

Ralph Waldo Emerson: It didn’t cross the road; it transcended it.

Johann Friedrich von Goethe: The eternal hen-principle made it do it.

Ernest Hemingway: To die. In the rain.

Werner Heisenberg: We are not sure which side of the road the chicken was on, but it was moving very fast.

David Hume: Out of custom and habit.

Saddam Hussein: This was an unprovoked act of rebellion and we were quite justified in dropping 50 tons of nerve gas on it.

Jack Nicholson: ‘Cause it F–Kin wanted to. That’s the F–Kin reason.

Pyrrho the Skeptic: What road?

Ronald Reagan: I forget.

John Sununu: The Air Force was only too happy to provide the transportation, so quite understandably the chicken availed himself of the opportunity.

The Sphinx: You tell me.

Henry David Thoreau: To live deliberately … and suck all the marrow out of life.

Mark Twain: The news of its crossing has been greatly exaggerated.

I hope you all enjoy.. And I am creeping ever closer to a conclusion of my latest writing project atrocity hopefully available soon. Stay tuned for more atrocities! Until next time Stay Safe, keep your head down and your aim high…

You might be a Correctional Officer If…

I know it’s been a long time. I am sure some of my fans have moved on to other blogs, because my blog just wasn’t giving them what they needed anymore, others have moved on after being offended somehow by any of my countless atrocities. However those of you who have stayed loyal, THANK YOU! As a sort of reward I will offer something that will once again allow you to ‘Flex the ‘ol Smile Muscles’ Anyway please enjoy. This latest ‘Soopah Atrocity’ brought to you by none other than, well ME…. A special thanks to Sam Cowley of the California Department of Corrections for the original list which I have altered ever so slightly. I know my few remaining fans are going ‘Seriously? , this guy takes another ‘Random’ Hiatus from entertaining us, his loyal followers and returns with something written by someone else? WOW.’  But please read on with my promise that there are plenty of ‘Original Soopah Atrocities’ in the pipeline, but for now sit back and enjoy! Especially my loyal followers who are cursed enough to actually have to work with me, and LEOs everywhere.

Now for the Top Signs you might be a Correctional Officer if…

You’ve ever told one of your kids to “drop me a kite” (or “dayroom recall”).

• You’ve ever thrown away a full can of soda because it was out of your sight for 30 seconds. (Or a sandwich, been there done that)

• You’ve ever wanted to physically assault your partner because they said, “It sure is quiet today.”

• You’ve ever looked a pool of blood like a Rorschach test “it looks like two ducks kissing!”

• The buzzer in a basketball game on TV makes you jump. (Or a ref’s whistle)

• You refer to the mall Santa as “Chester Claus.”

• You’ve ever fixed a plumbing problem with a side-handle baton. (It works!)

• You’ve ever looked at a stain on your pants and wondered if it was blood, feces, or taco sauce.

• You’ve ever been subpoenaed because of toilet paper.  (Or by an inmate’s family because their son had a heart attack after trying to kill his cellmate).

• You’ve ever driven past a high school and thought, “Job security.”

• You know that, “I slipped in the shower”, “I fell off my bunk”, and “I got hit playing basketball” all mean the same thing: “I owed another inmate money and couldn’t pay, so I got tuned up.”

• You remember when “getting gassed” meant you had too much to drink.

• You’ve ever considered calling in sick when you saw there was a full moon.

• You can’t feel comfortable in a restaurant unless your chair faces the door.

• You play “Gang Graffiti Bingo” with your kids when driving on long trips “Ooohh, MS13 I just got my middle square!”

• You watch an inmate get Life-Flighted for a bloody hangnail, but the Governor claims that YOU are the reason there’s a budget crisis.( Sound like (p)Rick Scott anyone?)

• Before you can buy a woman a drink, you have to make sure she doesn’t have an Adams Apple.

• Your favorite coffee pot hasn’t been cleaned since Governor Reagan, and god help anyone who tries to wipe the crust off.

• You’ve ever seen a man with breasts and wearing “Daisy Duke” shorts beat the hell out of three  guys at the same time. (His “name” was Gina).

• Your gunner is a “Fish”, your partner’s a “Dump Truck”, and your relief is a “Lop.”

• You can flip to the exact Folger Adams key from a group of five to six without looking.

• Your stomach sinks when a full chow hall suddenly goes dead quiet.

• You can actually read and understand an inmate’s illiterate attempt at written requests. “I need a bace for my wrisit.”

• You believe that “Gas’em till they puke!” is an appropriate Use of Force.

• You disbelieve 90 percent of what you hear and 75 percent of what you see.

• You never count on going home until have actually made it out of the prison.

• You believe that ALL PRISON MANAGEMENT should have fought an inmate at least once before evaluating if you have used appropriate force.

• You have ever wanted to hold a seminar entitled: “Suicide…getting it right the first time.” (or at least provide a pamphlet at Orientation)

• You have ever seen an inmate hanging by their neck and thought, “Damn!  Now I have to do paperwork.”

• You know preferred overtime is from 2nd to 3rd, 3rd to 1st is ugly, but 1st to 2nd is torture.

• You know that “S.O.S.” really means “Stuck On Stupid!”

• You still get a weird feeling in your gut when you walk into a prison. ( and the ‘Click’ of the gates locking behind you make you tense up just a little bit more)

• You recognize that anyone who is willing to stick anything up his ass to hide it is one DANGEROUS S.O.B.

• You translate “Hey! Hey CO!  Check this out!” to mean “Listen very closely while I attempt lie to you.”

• You can discuss where you are going to eat with your partner while standing over a dead body.

• You are the only person introduced at social gatherings by profession.

• You know the value of a good pair of boots.

• You know that color-coding something was designed to make it “Guard Proof.”

• People shout, “Don’t drop the soap!” when they find out you work in a prison and think they’re being hugely funny and original.

• A week’s worth of laundry consists of five T-shirts, five pairs of socks, and five pairs of underwear. (And one jumpsuit).

• You’ve ever referred to Tuesday as “my weekend”, or “this is my Friday.”

• You’ve ever written off guns and ammunition as a business deduction.

• You get gassed and pray it was just water or coffee, but don’t know until the aroma hits.

• You have forgotten to eat your lunch because you were too busy.

• You feel good when you hear “these handcuffs are too tight.”

See I told you you would get a chuckle. Now get back to work! Tune in next time for another Literary Atrocity brought to you by, ME. I hope you enjoyed this Literary Atrocity. If you did, tell a friend. If you didn’t tell 3 (because they’ll likely want to read themselves to see if it really is as bad as you said. ) Until next time I am 10-7
Stay safe and remember to laugh a little bit every once in a while.

Lions and Tigers and…… Squirrels?

I am back in the game again… After a short bout of ‘Writer’s Block’ I’m back with a vengeance, look out world, I’m back in the saddle again. There are Plenty more atrocities forthcoming, many of which offer my often unsolicited and always uncensored opinions on a lot of the horrors going on around the world, more specifically right here in our own back yard, but first I wanted to make you laugh, give my fans a much needed ‘Smile workout.’
I got this story in an email from my wife who got it from a friend who got it from a friend etc, I don’t know the original author (as is normal with most of the chain, fwd, etc. Type emails.) and I am not sure how much of it is based in fact but nonetheless I had to share it because I laughed so hard I… Well let’s just say I laughed really freakin hard.  Anyhow, on with the show.. I hope you enjoy this little story as much as I did!!!! Especially all my friends and fans who are current or former LEOs. Enjoy.

EVIL SQUIRREL

I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I suspect.

I was on Brice Street – a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile suddenly shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me.

It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it — it was that close. I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me.

I barely had time to brace for the impact. Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves!

Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his beady little eyes.

His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leaped!

I am sure the scream was squirrel for “Bonzai !” or maybe “Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!” The leap was nothing short of spectacular…

He shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in the chest. Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack.

Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity.

As I was dressed only in a light T-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans, this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!

Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel.

And losing …

I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil little rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw. That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there.

It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser. But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary angry squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH!

Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact, he landed squarely on my BACK and resumed his rather antisocial and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him! The situation was not improved. Not improved at all.

His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled, to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result.

Torque.

This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very good at it.

The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement.

The squirrel screamed in anger.

The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy.

I screamed in … well … I just plain screamed.

Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, and roaring at maye 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of death on his back.

The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.

With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike.

This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody’s tree, house or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle … my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect against the massive power of the big cruiser.

About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me.

As the faceplate closed part way, he began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPMs on the Valkyrie Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment), so her front end started to drop.

Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel’s tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.

Finally I got the upper hand … I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked … sort of.

Spectacularly sort of … so to speak.

Picture a new scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork. Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by, and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.

I heard screams.

They weren’t mine…

I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross street. I would have returned to ‘fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really … Except for two things.

First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody’s front yard, quickly moving away from the car. The cop who had been in the driver’s seat was standing in the street, aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car.

So, the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to “let the professionals handle it” anyway.

That was one thing. The other?

Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me. That is one dangerous squirrel. AND NOW HE HAS A PATROL CAR. A somewhat shredded patrol car … but it was all his.

I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And a whole lot of Band-Aids.

Signing Off!!!
BOLO!!!  (Be On the Look Out for the lay-person)
SOOPAH OPINIONS on Life or something like it are coming soon! In the mean time I hope you had a good laugh.

Soopah Ants and Grasshoppers

I know its been like forever since I’ve bothered to post anything. I apologize to all my fans for depriving you of my literary atrocities that you can help but want to read. Well you might be a little disappointed when you realize that this one is NOT an original attrocity, but one of the few emails that tend to get passed through more hands than a joint at a Willie Nelson Concert. (Yes, I went there. Of course because I wasn’t afraid to go there is why  you are my fans.) Ok. So enough of the sappy stuff. Let’s get down to business. This is the story of the Ant and The Grasshopper. First it relates an abbreviated version of the ORIGINAL story with a solid moral.  Then it tells an updated version of the story that fits the moral bankruptcy of today’s society. Before we go any further if you read this story and are some how offended than perhaps you should find a new blog to read. I just share my view points and express my opinions, I don’t set out specifically to offend ANYONE, but if some feelings get hurt by my opinions so be it. I probably won’t lose any sleep over it.  In short if you get offended by what I write then kindly follow another blogger, perhaps one who writes about  the mundane life of one of their gazillions of cats… Any way you get the point.. And thanks to name removed to protect the unsuspecting and innocent. (you know who you are though.) for sending me this email.. And on with the show. Side note.. I added some of my own personal thoughts in italics throughout both versions.

The ANT
AND THE
GRASSHOPPER

This one is a little different …..
Two Different Versions ….
Two Different Morals

OL D VERSION

The ant works hard in the withering heat all summer long,
building his house and laying up supplies for the winter.

The grasshopper thinks the ant is a fool
and laughs and dances and plays the summer away.

Come winter, the ant is warm
and well fed.

The grasshopper has no food or shelter,
so he dies out in the cold.

MORAL OF THE OLD STORY:

Be responsible for yourself!
and Hard work pays off!!! 

MODERN VERSION

The ant works hard in the withering heat and the rain all summer long,
building his house and laying up supplies for the winter.

The grasshopper thinks the ant
is a fool and laughs and dances and plays the summer away.

Come winter, the shivering grasshopper calls a press conference and
demands to know why the ant should be allowed to be warm and well
fed while he is cold and starving.

CBS, NBC, PBS, CNN, and ABC show up
to provide pictures of the shivering grasshopper
next to a video of the ant in his comfortable
home with a table filled with food.
America is stunned by the sharp contrast.

How can this be, that in a country of such wealth,
this poor grasshopper is allowed to suffer so?

Kermit the Frog appears on Oprah
with the grasshopper and everybody cries when
they sing, ‘It’s Not EasyBeing Green…’ seriously!?!? Isn’t it like a law of Nature that Frogs EAT Grasshoppers? Anyway on with the story.

ACORN stages a demonstration in front of the ant’s
house where the news stations film the SEIU group
singing, We shall overcome.

Then Rev. Jeremiah Wright    has the group kneel down
to pray for the grasshopper’s sake, while he damns the ants.

President Obama condemns the ant and blames
President Bush 43, President Bush 41, President Reagan,
Christopher Columbus, and the Pope
for the grasshopper’s plight.

Nancy Pelosi & Harry Reid exclaim in an interview
with Larry King that the ant has gotten rich off the back
of the grasshopper, and both call for an immediate tax hike
on the ant to make him pay his fair share.  You mean like they (Dingy Harry and Nacy) got rich off the backs of hardworking law abiding citizens like us?

Finally, the EEOC drafts the Economic Equity &
Anti-Grasshopper Act retroactive to the
beginning of the summer.
The ant is fined for failing to hire a proportionate number
of green bugs and, having  nothing left to  pay his retroactive
taxes, his home is confiscated by the Government  Green Czar
and given  to the grasshopper.

The story ends as we see the grasshopper and his
free-loading  friends finishing up the last bits of the
ant’s food while the government house he is  in,
which, as you recall, just happens to be the ant’s old house,
crumbles around them because the grasshopper doesn’t  maintain it.

The ant has  disappeared in the snow, never to be seen again.

The grasshopper  is found  dead in a drug related incident,
and the house, now abandoned, is taken over  by a gang
of spiders  who terrorize the ramshackle, once prosperous
and peaceful, neighborhood.

The entire Nation collapses bringing
the rest of the free world with it.

MORAL OF THE STORY:
Be careful how you vote in 2012.   Does anyone besides me Miss good ol DUBYA now?
Vote Michelle Bachman 2012!!

The END! Thanks for reading. This has been another literary atrocity brought to you by SOOPAH TROOPAH productions! Stay tuned for more outrageous and obnoxious rants, gripes and politically incorrect opinions!

Soopah Recycled Humor

Ever since I’ve had an email address I would get ‘Those’ emails from friends and family, you know what I am talking about.. The ones that are forwarded from around the world, most of which are the lame and oh so timeless, chain letters.. Email has done wonders for the chain letter, now any jackass (who’s probably bored out of their skull at some dead end job decided that to fulfill their day a little bit on company time.) wants to start a chain letter can do so by simply sitting down in front of any computer, the likes of which are very readily available at most places of employment, can crank out a few keystrokes and away we go.. They don’t even have to buy stamps anymore! Of course there is the occasional bit of humor. Some of that humor is the, laugh till you cry, and eventually even wet your pants funny. Those ones I have always tried to share. These types of posts used to by known in the Ghetto (Read: My old MySpace Blog) as Soopah Plagirisms,  but since its my new ‘Professional’ Blog I had to come up with a new name.. So I will simply refer to them as ‘Recycled’ humor. Any how I hope you enjoy this fine example of my Soopah Plagirisms from back in the days of the GHETTO!  A warning and a side note before we continue, WARNING! There is some graphic language contained here in. If you are easily offended by foul language then STOP NOW, don’t read any further..In fact you may want to find another Blog to follow because while not profanity laced I do drop an occasional F-Bomb and other such words.. Side note; As I eluded to earlier, this a one of my original MySpace blog entries, for those who actually still hang out in that Ghetto known as MySpace will realize that the Blog posted below is copied from my original MySpace blog. THANKS and enjoy

January 19, 2008

This one is Definitely not original but damn it was funny enough it brought tears to my eyes. So I had to share… Thanks Sis for the laugh it came at a time when I really could use it.  Don’t know who the original author was (as is usually the case with this stuff)….. But it’s still damn funny. So get cozy and enjoy another installment of Soopah’s psuedo plagarism.

My kid is a dick!

Ya want to know something, fuckface? There are kids in Africa who would literally bite the throat of a fellow citizen to enjoy a shopping experience at Wal-Mart. Are you so spoiled? Are you too good? Stop fucking crying. I mean it. You’re cramping daddy’s style.C’mon kiddo, stop throwing this fit and I’ll get you a cookie from Subway. They have one up front.What do you mean that “they’re all stale?” You have chosen to utter three goddamn words during the entire duration of this massive mental meltdown, and it’s some shit about NOT being interested in an offer for a fucking cookie?Are you mad? All kids like cookies. Don’t you want to be like everyone else?

There is something seriously fucking wrong with you, boy.

Who taught you that things go stale, anyway? You can’t believe everything you hear.

Your mother was lying. Cookies just get extra dry and crispy. Don’t be such a pussy.

I’m guessing that “pussy” must be a cue for you to stomp your feet more. Excellent.

Would you please put an end to this nonsense?

Holy God, your eyes look like you’ve been on a three day bender.

People are beginning to point.

I strongly urge you to gather yourself. At the very least, you might want to grab a tissue and wipe the gigantic ropes of snot that are wildly flailing from your nose. You look like a fucking Star Wars character.

Wow. I cannot believe that you just did that.

That was completely uncalled for.

I will only tell you this once. Look at me when I’m talking to you.

If your Dale Earnhardt “Intimidator” cap happens to come into contact with the Wal-Martfloor once more, I will sell your bike to that crazy fucking neighbor kid for a dollar fifty. Disrespect Dale and you disrespect yourself.

He drove a race car really fast. That counts for something in my book.

Hold on, my phone’s buzzing. Quiet down for a sec…or just keep screaming and crying.

Ah, yes…I thought this message might come in.

Santa Claus just sent me a text message and said that he’s not going to bring you shit if you don’t knock it the fuck off. He also said that he will cut Rudolph with a butterfly knife if you don’t blow your goddamn nose.

Fine, don’t believe me.

Just take a couple deep breaths. You can do it. I think the cashier is calling the cops.

Get a grip.

Hey. You know what I read in the paper the other day?

I heard that every time you cry, a kitten explodes.

Isn’t that fucking terrible?

You should really stop crying.

Picture the little guy. He’d be horsing around; playing with a ball of yarn. Every once in a while, he’d rub his face against the carpet and meow. Then he’d explode. Blood and guts would be all over the fucking place, all because you refused to refrain from melting down like a fucking crazy person.

I guess that you must really be into killing kittens, you sick fuck.

Take your hand off the Earnhardt cap, son.

I told you. This doesn’t involve Dale. Don’t bring him into this any more than you already have.

You should really be pooling all of your energy into stopping all of that goddamn water that’s shooting out of your eyes. You look like a fucking fool.

The greeter guy working the door at the entrance, the one with a single leg and an eye patch, is looking at me like he feels sorry for ME. Unfucking real.

I should seriously discipline you in some way right now, but screaming children is one of the many things that make Wal-Mart shopping totally awesome.

So…we about done yet? I didn’t think so.

I’ll be getting some shut-eye out in the parking lot. Wobble your fucking ass out to the car when you get tired.

Ok so now that you’ve had your laugh slowly get up out of your chair, (if you are at work/school find something to carry in front of you to hide the piss spot) and go into the bathroom and clean yourself off and ladies reapply your mascara, and enjoy the rest of your day.

Much Love

SOOPAH TROOPAH

Until next time

I am 10-42, stay safe Brothers and Sisters.