Hey Asshole! Get the Fuck Outta' There!

You gotta' be some kind of dumb to sit around your house watching Larry King when a category 5 storm is coming to wash out yer' mouth again. The first time, you're on the roof goin', "Shoulda' got my ass out when they told me to." Meantime, your dog sinks in the flood waters and your wife still won't have sex with you. What's the matter with her anyway? Who's running this operation? Aliens?

But I'm off track here. Must be my back medication, which I grow in the yard.

So now this storm is coming to New Orleans again, and you French dingleberries better sauce up your busses and run like hell, or there's going to be a new soup in New Orleans and it won't be Jambalaya. It'll be people soup, and Louisanna gators love that shit.

Where's my beer. Goddamn, I'm a stupid motherfucker sometimes. Oh, here it is right where I put it, between my legs. It's airconditioning for my balls.

So anyhoo, and you know... I don't like French people who think they're black anyhow. So let 'em stay. But they should probably get out of there.

Now I been reading about liberals saying that the Hurlycane coming down there is God's way of saying Republicans are gonna' lose. Hey Asshole! I got news for you. God set that one on the Democrats and JesusImposterObama. He just screwed up and made it run a little late. Same way he screwed up with Giraffes. That's the dumbest animal... what's it good for? Look at it. Ain't no reasonable God gonna' make a thing like that. It's goofy.

I ain't picking on God, I'm just saying he done some weird shit. Like look at a penguin. He dressed him up, but how's he gonna' fly to the party with those little wings? He's too fat. Look how fat he is. I'm not gonna' get one. What's the point of them?

Well, I've gone on a bit too long here, and so... oh now what. Look at that shit. Some little girl is knocking on my door in a unform and she's got a box of cookies under her arm. I fell for this once before and those cookies tasted like shit. I'm gonna' get my shotgun.

Catch you tomorrow, Asshole.


-- Wacky Macky

Hey Asshole, Stop Yer Yammerin!

Hey Asshole,

I had to drink a whole bottle of Turkey just to get through the Democrapatic convention without throwin up my liver. Not my pickled liver, mind you. I'm talking about the liver I ate from the Racoon I shot with my car by running over it. Tasted like trash, but you are what you eat.

Which brings me to my point. There's Billary Cliton up there yammerin' away, and I'm just picturing Bubba Bill up there as his eyes get misty, 'cause he's thinking how good that blow job was when he was shoving that cigar in the younger prettier girl with the dirty blue dress.

Now Billary don't care 'cause she's part dyke, but she's old dyke. I mean her face is going Michael Jackson and she ain't had no surgery that I read about in the Enquirer, the only place for the truth. And she's saying her man's Obama? He ain't sucking no Bubba stick.

Now McCain may have a big jaw on one side that looks like he's sucking one too, but that girl in the blue dress, where's her book at? She coulda made a hundred dollars on that. Shit! No, really. I shit myself. That's what's happening here, and this Turkey's making me crazy enough to eat more of that possum liver. Stupid dead thing got ran over in my car. That's how I shot it.

Don't fuck with me. I'll get your brain and fix it so it works my way.


-- Wacky Macky