Sunday, August 30, 2009

Do you want to party with me?























I got my drinking shirt on, my hair's looking good, I'm feeling good, I mean, c'mon, let's get this thing on.

My current incarceration -- a momentary pitstop. A bald dude in a Jager shirt does not muck about. After my solicitor has been dispatched and my bail posted, I shall return to the bar, wherein I was originally 'pinched' and resume my consumption of tasty beverages.

First rounds on me! Per chance I will get change for the jukebox. I'm feeling some Loverboy or REO Speedwagon coming on.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Huh... wha?

Where am I and what is that smell? Is that me? It's like BO and the scent of fresh cat shit had a baby. And it died.

Perhaps my bi-annual beard washing should be upped to tri-annual.

And no, I'm not Sib Hashian. Or Rob Tyner. Stop asking for autographs.

Please scratch my head. I've got an itch something fierce. Or take off my handcuffs and let me do it. Okay, so you're not going to remove my restrains. That's probably a good idea, since I've got a fresh BM in my pants and I'm ready and willing to hurl it at you like I'm a crazy, circus monkey.

So if you do scratch me, you might want to put gloves on. I've been known to chigger-up in the summer months.

As soon as I get out of here, I've got a twenty-four ounce Budweiser & Clamato Chelada chilling in a dumpster behind the supermarket with my name on it. You should try it. After test-marketing it in Arizona, Bud has widened distribution to include California and Texas. And you know, after a hard day of rummaging through trash cans, yelling unintelligible gibberish at tourists, and standing by the highway off-ramp with a "Will Work For Drunk" sign, a gentleman can find true relaxation in a cold, beer and clam-juice cocktail.

Beats drinking anti-freeze like in the old college days.

Monday, August 17, 2009

What, me worry?























Yeah, I got arrested. So what? Do I look like I'm vexed?

Do you think this is my first time at the rodeo? Negative. Getting arrested is a quarterly event for me. Like my taxes.

And spending a night in a holding cell -- do you wonder if it frightens me? Not. At. All. Just take one deep, ponderous look into my white supremacist face. Put me in, coach. I've got enough hate to get me through an evening with any race you can throw at me.

Just tell me why am I here? So I was standing outside a town-hall meeting with an 'Obama is Hitler' homemade poster. (I just got Photoshop 8!) Any maybe I screamed a few racially sensitive about our 'alleged' commander-in-chief. (Let's see that damned birth certificate, right?) A few off-color remarks about the president and his 'ilk' taking, er, stealing the country from us and the next thing I know, I'm getting my handsome mug photographed by John Law. He and Rahm Emanuel should go back to Kenya!

But I'm not worried. White people have faced this kind of adversity before.

Now I need to see a doc about a pre-existing condition -- you get free health care in prison, you know.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Sunblock is for pussies


Here I was, sitting out in the back of the truck, ten deep into a twelve'r of 'Natty Lite, blasting Brooks & Dunn, minding my own business, when a lady-cop asked me to take off my sunglasses. She looked deep into my eyes -- told me I looked intoxicated. Windows into the soul or something.

This is 'Merica! I'm a taxpayer. It's my G-d-given right to sit in my F-250, put in a cassette of some country music, and drink myself into oblivion. If it ain't in the constitution, it outta be.

I work hard all week. (I manufacture those plastic balls that hang from the back of a truck hitch.) If I wanna get my drink on and soak up the hot Florida sun on my day off, that's my prerogative.

I was looking a little fair, so no, I didn't put on the Coppertone spf 5 I keep in the glovebox for when it's really sunny. And now I've got that 'bedroom glow' I was lookin' for. When I post bail and git outta here, I'm goin' over to the Pink Pussycat and see if I can git me some.


Wanna a mustache ride? You got it. Just be gentle, the face is sensitive right now. You have any bactine?

Monday, August 3, 2009

Hi there! Good to see you!

Hiya, schnookems! Snap that photo and let's get this road on the show! Ha!

Why am I so happy? Two words: Why not?

The sky is clear, the air is crisp, I'm currently being arrested and yes, I have a big 'ole smile on my mug. I call it "Smile Power." You should try it, too, officer. You, with your gruff, mustache-laden frown. If you smile, the whole world smiles with you.

Or it could be the massive amount of crystal meth I took three days ago. My stars, it really lasts and lasts. And what happened to my shirt? And pants? I don't remember having these tattoos earlier this week. Hmmm. You have some 'splainin' to do!'


Toodle-oo!