“I just snuck into our chickens’ home, covered in feces, earned their trust, and swiped their unborn children right out from under them, just so we can put food on our table, and you want me to smile? I’m not a man. I’m a coward in a hat. Oh Jesus! I just stepped on a fucking egg. That hurts emotionally and financially. Fuck this shit, Julia. Fuck this shit.”
“Fuck you, Janet. This is who you married. For what it’s worth, I think that doily on your head looks childish and ridiculous too, but did I tell you to take it off? No, no I didn’t, because I respect you as a per— on second thought, take off that god damned doily, it’s fucking up my sea man photograph. Cheeeeeeeeeese!”
When life gives you white people, make a boss ass hat. And white people-aid. You’ve got to chop, grind, crush, and juice white people into a beverage. It’s king nasty, but it’s better than dealing with white people in general. We’ve gotten a bit off topic here. Back to the point: that hat is fucking amazing. The poncho’s pretty nice also. The two go together like white people-aid and, shit, back to juicing white people again.
“Daddy, we don’t have a dog. Not any more.”
Anonymous asked: Why?
Randy Travis snapped his pencil in half with one hand and threw his guitar across the room. He had just written the best song of his career, but he knew in his heart country radio would never get behind “Anal Fissures and Nosebleeds.”
He picked up his phone and texted his assistant Jenny. “FUCK U- U GODLESS WHORE” Jenny was young and his pastor’s daughter, so she’d take that kind of shit.