Dear Creepy Guy From Houma,
Thursday, June 18, 2009
I drank too much last night. The problem is I can't remember what it was I drank so I can do it again. Whatever that shit was, it couldn't have been legal.
Now I need to figure out where it snows this time of year, because when I look out the window of this Lincoln ( don't ask) it looks like fucking Christmas. At least somebody left a nice trail so I could find the porta potty.
Looks like I'm gonna need another ride. Something tells me this one is going to be catching on fire real soon.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Now we are being told the mayor will be detained "indefinitely," and maybe even eaten, if we do not give them the secret of how to grow women with normal sized breasts! Those insidious oriental bastards! No one in New Orleans is normal in any way! Nagin is doomed!
Monday, June 8, 2009
I was sitting there at the JFJ (Junkies For Jesus) Club, watching the kids of some chick I was planning on slipping the bone to later, when it hit me! I don't mean another one of my brilliant ideas. It was a fucking bottle that bounced off my head. I looked up and, wiping the blood out of my eyes, saw the fat slob at the end of the bar giggling like a little bitch.
"You think that shit was funny, Bubba," I asked, reaching for my 38.
"How did you know my name was Bubba," he said, seeming not to notice the bullet that just missed his fat head. That's when I knew the guy really was a "Bubba."
You see, down here we have this class of people who think it is a good thing to all go by the same fucking stupid name. It would be kinda like if everyone in Kentucky went by "Hick." These goofs are fucking everywhere, and they are all dumb as fucking dog shit. Eeven worse, it is pointless to kill the mother fuckers because as soon as you do another one just springs up to infect your environment with his stupidity.
Instead of killing him I decided to have some fun with him instead. I laughed and told him how cool he was, and how much I enjoyed being hit in thefucking head by a bottle. Then I asked him if he needed a job. Since no Bubba can ever hold a regular job, they are always willing to do something menial task in order to get money for beer and spank mags. He was all for it.
I told him all he had to do was deliver a package to the Jefferson Parish PD for me. He nodded, I slipped him a fin, and off he went.
Don't think I really sent live kids wrapped in cellophane off with a retard. They were already dead when I put them in the box.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
This shit with the Kung Fu guy has me thinking. If not being able to breathe is such a fucking turn on, then why aren't people with asthma always happy?
I just don't get this kind of shit. When I want to bust a nut I go out and look for somebody who has a pussy. It never occurs to me to go to the hardware store for some rope (unless the chick donating the poon has sharp nails). What the fuck kind of moron would rather sit in a room alone with a rope wrapped around his dick than fuck a pussy?
Dick + pussy = ejaculation.
Dick + rope = retarded
You wouldn't think I'd have to point out that a pussy just might be better than a fucking rope considering pussy is better than EVERYTHING.On a brighter note, New Orleans is still Murder Capitol of the USA! We're down one murder from this time last year, but that was only because I was too drunk to catch that jogger the other day. Keep up the good work N.O.!!