Friday, May 30, 2008

Stupid Little 1st Grader

My wife, Bekki, and I were enjoying a warm cup of coffee in the backyard today. We let the dogs out on their chains and sat in our beach chairs (I know how strange it must look to our little Appalachian town to actually own beach chairs). The dogs were barking at the little neighbor boys and we were yelling at the dogs. It's a vicious cycle, but I enjoy it.

Anyways, I'll get to the point. One of the neighbor boys(the little spoiled bitch one) yells out to the others that his father just brought him home a brand new bike. Well whooptyfuckindoooo. This little punk gets a new bike while the rest of the kids in the neighborhood are in their backyards playing with old chains and rocks. Bekki and I had a good laugh at our (her) observation concerning the lack of prosperity on our block. Then I got to thinking. . . I can't even afford a new bike. Not that I'm looking or anything, but shit, even if I wanted one I just don't have that kinda scratch for some shiny new Huffy. So fuck that little spoiled bitch!

It must be nice to be given things like new bikes and vaccinations and whatnot. So fuck him and his balanced diet of fruits and vegetables. I'll just stay on my side of the street and grin at him with my cavity smile and 20/80 vision. I may not have the kind of disposable income that Mr. JohnnyComeLately does, but at least I own the house I live in.
Stupid little 1st grader.

I'd like to shove that rent check down his throat and ask him how poverty tastes.

I'm Afraid of Monsters

Did you ever notice the startling similarities between wiggers and retards? They both wear really horrible clothing, they both talk funny and they're both total embarrassments to their parents. A couple monsters walked in to work today. I like to call retards monsters, because, well, you know. Anyways. . . A couple monsters walked in and it got me thinking

'When I have children, would I be more upset if they were retarded or racially confused?'

And the answer is clear: Retarded.

I would rather have to hold a drool rag to my child's mouth and continually potty-train them up into their midlife crises than ever rear a mumbling, knuckle-dragging wigger. To think that some pasty-skinned, unibrowed thug could be birthed from my beautiful wife's vagina is more than I could bare.

I hear they've got the technology to find out if your baby is monster-like before it's born. What they need to do is scrap that whole program and focus on determining if your child is going to be beaten up by real black people for bumping a Tupac album a little too loud in his El Camino. I know Baby Jesus hates abortion, but if I had the foresight to see little Tyrone throwing gang signs at a bunch of middle schoolers because they're the only ones who think he's really bad-ass, I would gladly stick a coat-hanger up there and dispose of the corpse in the nearest dumpster. Then I'd probably spend my time of mourning by seeing some light hearted comedy like Harold and Maud or the Goonies. There's one monster I'm not afraid of.

Good Night to all.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

i don't really want Diablo Cody to die

It's raining in the mountains, today. I turned off the goddamn air conditioner and opened every door and window this house has. It feels wonderful. I took the dogs out back and we ran around a bit. getting wet and whatnot. I keep thinking of Diablo Cody. I want to strangle that whore with a guitar string. Mark Montano, too. I guess jealousy would drive anyone to homicide, though, so i shouldn't feel too bad.

Bekki and I watched Juno the other night. That's why I bring Cody up. Great movie. I tend not to flock to the trendy looking flicks, but this one hit the nail on the head. (We actually saw Old School with Will Ferrell in the theater and walked out, AH!) The writing in Juno was as breathtaking as an asthma attack. Kudos to you, Diablo Cody. Kudos indeed.

As I was running around with the pack in the backyard I noticed a pile of bricks. If Diablo Cody was here I could push her and say she slipped on the wet grass. Maybe she'd hit her head and die. I wonder if she'd like that. . .