![]() ![]() ![]() I’ve got cans of Manwich and a box of giant novelty-sized lollipops one of the fellas got me for tough-guy Secret Santa this year, as a joke. The grocery store won’t let me in without a mask, but it’s still a free country in my condo-so everything in my cupboard is fair game. Especially not to you, Maskhole.Įat whatever I’d like. Kind of like how I can understand why I don’t need to wear a mask, but can’t explain it without getting all pissed off. But I totally get it, even if I can’t explain it. My guess is that no one has ever been brave enough to ask a guy with a toothpick hanging from his lip why it’s there. I’m not sure why this is a tough-guy thing, but it is. If they don’t have their guitar picks hanging in a Hard Rock Cafe, they’re not badass enough for me. ![]() But I won’t, because I only like hard-rock music. Maybe you can look it up, Mask Ruffalo-when-he-played-a-journalist-in-that-movie.īeat-box. I wish I could take credit for the image of a Minion dressed like the Punisher bowing down before God, who is wearing a “Fire Fauci” T-shirt with the sleeves cut off while whizzing on the CNN logo, which I reply to medical experts and other trolls with, but the name of the artist remains unknown. Just like I don’t hide behind one when I post online. If I’m going to tell someone to shut up and stop calling this number because the person they’re trying to reach doesn’t live here anymore, I’m not going to be hiding behind a mask. Speak freely and clearly without any stupid fabric silencing my words. If you don’t like it, maybe see if you can buy one of those masks for your eyes, Zerro. They usually salute back with one finger, but I wouldn’t expect anything less. When I see them on the road, I like to give a little salute to show that we’re cut from the same leather. My Chrysler kitty only purrs for regular, but I like to rep for my fellow bad boys who are out there hauling ass in a semi. Twice? Whoa, momma! They’re practically giving that diesel away. That’s what you’re so afraid of, right? Well, I refuse to live in your Spin City, Michael J. The only souls who can lay hands on this throbbing hunk of American muscle and live to talk about it are me, myself, and the guy at Jiffy Lube who changes the oil for me-so back off, buddy. That’s right, the one with a Harley-Davidson sticker. Grit my teeth to show that I’m not exactly happy with how close you’re getting to my PT Cruiser. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Details
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |