Tuesday, June 15, 2004
All the Kiddies in the House say *splort*....
So, as I alluded to yesteray, we have Neighbors. Not neighbors, but Neighbors. The kind of fetal scrapings that deserve capitalization. Good people, really, except for the fact that the father is Angry Dad, the mother is Mrs. Latchkey-upbringer, and the children probably shot straight out of Satan's ooey-gooey bunghole.
Such cute kids.
So, as young boys are wont to do, these two partial birth abortions were playing about in the yard a few weeks ago. I'm the first to admit that, as a child, I permormed my share of unmentioably foul acts agains nature-- usually involving explosives and perhaps sheep as well-- but they never involved neighbors' property. So I feel fully justified in saying that they should know better. These two escaped cumstains were hitting golfballs into my house with baseball bats. WHAT THE FUCK? Who thinks that's a good idea, especially when you're living next to me? I mean, I make it VERY clear that I don't like them by glowering at every opportunity and swerving to hit them every chance I get. Perhaps, you say, they were motivated by revenge. Well, that may be true. But I have left a trail of steming coprses in my wake as I have plowed through all the people who thought they could out-revenge me.
Of course, upon mentioning to Angry Dad that his kids are little fucksticks and should be beaten, he read them the riot act and probably did some very unpleasant things to thier genitals. At least, that what I see in my sweet, sweet dreams. However, this is not enough. I think that my best bet is to play army with them....you know, give them nice berets with hammer-and-sickle patches on them and tell them that those are the symbols of America's best commando squad. Then I'll tell them to go see Gunny, our other neighbor.
He's a vet. From 'Nam. Unstable ex-Marine + children who are about to learn a valuable lesson on trust = a full afternoon of fun fun fun.
So, as I alluded to yesteray, we have Neighbors. Not neighbors, but Neighbors. The kind of fetal scrapings that deserve capitalization. Good people, really, except for the fact that the father is Angry Dad, the mother is Mrs. Latchkey-upbringer, and the children probably shot straight out of Satan's ooey-gooey bunghole.
So, as young boys are wont to do, these two partial birth abortions were playing about in the yard a few weeks ago. I'm the first to admit that, as a child, I permormed my share of unmentioably foul acts agains nature-- usually involving explosives and perhaps sheep as well-- but they never involved neighbors' property. So I feel fully justified in saying that they should know better. These two escaped cumstains were hitting golfballs into my house with baseball bats. WHAT THE FUCK? Who thinks that's a good idea, especially when you're living next to me? I mean, I make it VERY clear that I don't like them by glowering at every opportunity and swerving to hit them every chance I get. Perhaps, you say, they were motivated by revenge. Well, that may be true. But I have left a trail of steming coprses in my wake as I have plowed through all the people who thought they could out-revenge me.
Of course, upon mentioning to Angry Dad that his kids are little fucksticks and should be beaten, he read them the riot act and probably did some very unpleasant things to thier genitals. At least, that what I see in my sweet, sweet dreams. However, this is not enough. I think that my best bet is to play army with them....you know, give them nice berets with hammer-and-sickle patches on them and tell them that those are the symbols of America's best commando squad. Then I'll tell them to go see Gunny, our other neighbor.
He's a vet. From 'Nam. Unstable ex-Marine + children who are about to learn a valuable lesson on trust = a full afternoon of fun fun fun.
Monday, June 14, 2004
Chapter 69, in which you SHUT UP!
Oh, COME NOW! You called it too early, Mk@t. I've just been busy taking care of wonderously irritating things and building up a good head of angst yet again. Fear not, constant reader... this one's still got some gasp in it.
Besides, did you really expect me to handle suburban life well? There are too many kids and they don't stay off my goddamn lawn. If they keep it up, I'm going to staple them back in thier respective broodmares' wombs...wait, on second thought, I think I'll mix 'em around a bit. Nothin' says loving like someone elses' parasite buried in your crotch.
Edit: What the holy fuck happened to the sidebar? Where the hell is it? And what's all that shit at the bottom of the page? Anyone else see some HTML afterbirth floating around down there? I think it's time for a redesign, OMG Kabuki!!!1!1!1!1!!! style.
Edit the second: Nevermind, everything is fine. We're all fine here. Just a small malfunction.
Oh, COME NOW! You called it too early, Mk@t. I've just been busy taking care of wonderously irritating things and building up a good head of angst yet again. Fear not, constant reader... this one's still got some gasp in it.
Besides, did you really expect me to handle suburban life well? There are too many kids and they don't stay off my goddamn lawn. If they keep it up, I'm going to staple them back in thier respective broodmares' wombs...wait, on second thought, I think I'll mix 'em around a bit. Nothin' says loving like someone elses' parasite buried in your crotch.
Edit: What the holy fuck happened to the sidebar? Where the hell is it? And what's all that shit at the bottom of the page? Anyone else see some HTML afterbirth floating around down there? I think it's time for a redesign, OMG Kabuki!!!1!1!1!1!!! style.
Edit the second: Nevermind, everything is fine. We're all fine here. Just a small malfunction.
