Hey peoples, what it be like? I'm just getting back to the office from a doctor's appointment, trying to see if I can stop the woman repeller that is my awful, awful snoring. Looks like I gotta participate in a sleep study to see if I got The Apnea and whatnot, so that'll be splendid.
So as I drive back to the office, I realize, there is no sweeter torture that is being dished out anywhere in the world, not at A.bu Gh.raib, not at Gu.antanamo, not by Ja.ck Bau.er, than that of driving in Satan's Anus. I bullshit you not, I've driven in NYC, Chicago, DC, ATL, and the retiree capital of the world, the great state of Florida, and there are no worse drivers on the planet than the denizens of Satan's Anus. How the fuck are you driving an Impala 10 miles below the speed limit in the far left lane? The only time most of these muthafuckas tap their gas pedals is when the light is yellow and they try to make it. They are inconsiderate, they cut you off, they drive parallel to you for miles or they hover in your blindspot. All in all, they suck. They suck so bad, they almost made me forget what I really want to talk about.
I want to talk about your kids. Yes, your kids. Don't look around thinking I'm talking about somebody else. I'm talking about you. *tappingthemonitorwithmyindexfinger* Hey, proud parent: Fuck your kid!
I have no real tolerance for my sister or my mother telling me about my nieces and nephews little adventures. I feign interest because, hell, I love my siblings and by extention, love their children. That doesn't mean I care a whole hell of a lot if they said something cute or appear to be precocious.
Now, that being said, why the fuck do I give a fuck about some unrelated muthafucka's demon spawn and their ability to wipe their own asses? Or the fact that they know their fuckin' alphabet. I don't give a fuck what little Jasper said to the milkman last Tuesday. Fuck little Jasper! Be fuckin' considerate. How boring is that story to me? Think about me for once, dammit!
And while I'm on the subject, wrangle those little bastards a little better. I don't need your fuckin' kids looking at me like I'm a gotdamn safari animal as I'm waiting for the doctor or eating at a restaurant. The minute you see 'em standing in front of me staring and they're over the age of 2, grab 'em, or I'll be ready to shove 'em back from whence they came.
Wow, I can't believe I had all that stored up in me. As you were.
So as I drive back to the office, I realize, there is no sweeter torture that is being dished out anywhere in the world, not at A.bu Gh.raib, not at Gu.antanamo, not by Ja.ck Bau.er, than that of driving in Satan's Anus. I bullshit you not, I've driven in NYC, Chicago, DC, ATL, and the retiree capital of the world, the great state of Florida, and there are no worse drivers on the planet than the denizens of Satan's Anus. How the fuck are you driving an Impala 10 miles below the speed limit in the far left lane? The only time most of these muthafuckas tap their gas pedals is when the light is yellow and they try to make it. They are inconsiderate, they cut you off, they drive parallel to you for miles or they hover in your blindspot. All in all, they suck. They suck so bad, they almost made me forget what I really want to talk about.
I want to talk about your kids. Yes, your kids. Don't look around thinking I'm talking about somebody else. I'm talking about you. *tappingthemonitorwithmyindexfinger* Hey, proud parent: Fuck your kid!
I have no real tolerance for my sister or my mother telling me about my nieces and nephews little adventures. I feign interest because, hell, I love my siblings and by extention, love their children. That doesn't mean I care a whole hell of a lot if they said something cute or appear to be precocious.
Now, that being said, why the fuck do I give a fuck about some unrelated muthafucka's demon spawn and their ability to wipe their own asses? Or the fact that they know their fuckin' alphabet. I don't give a fuck what little Jasper said to the milkman last Tuesday. Fuck little Jasper! Be fuckin' considerate. How boring is that story to me? Think about me for once, dammit!
And while I'm on the subject, wrangle those little bastards a little better. I don't need your fuckin' kids looking at me like I'm a gotdamn safari animal as I'm waiting for the doctor or eating at a restaurant. The minute you see 'em standing in front of me staring and they're over the age of 2, grab 'em, or I'll be ready to shove 'em back from whence they came.
Wow, I can't believe I had all that stored up in me. As you were.
KZ
