Dude, chill the fuck out.
Why lately is it that every time I write something for this site I also happen to be squeezing shit from my Pillsbury in a public restroom? I’m at Starbucks in fucked up South Orange County where there aren’t any armed Mexican gang members with shaved heads and plaid pajama shorts (seriously wtf is with that? which JUAN of you had that idea? ¡no mamas guey!) for miles or at least not til the next bus stop. The same turd burglar has tried to break into my fecal sanctuary twice in 5 minutes now…twice I’ve yelled, “Be out in a minute…” which was a goddamned lie because I don’t take one minute shits like I don’t take care of my own basic needs…..which is to say it doesn’t fucking happen…not sometimes, but EVER. You got that you depraved heathen turd burglar?! Get a number and stand back (in line and for your own safety) because I’ve been waiting all day for this and if I’m going to be stuck in SoCounty with all these fucking Mitt Romney lookalikes and Jesus Girl Scout Oddessy Van Moms I want to at least be able to evacuate ass in peace. Why don’t you go next door to Flame Broiler and broil one up in their outhouse. Asshole. Because I feel like it, here are some recent photoshops from bitter, depressed, adult ADD-having, unemployed, no friend or wife-having Octo Mike. Go fuck yourselves, you perfect bastards.
(shhhhhh……. The sad monkey is a visual metaphor for me. Take pity on your uncle Mike…hook up some cookies ‘n cream Breyer’s and send your kinda attractive 30-something year old, but still rebelling against stupid high school shit, older sister with questionable morals and confidence issues to deliver it. Thanks.)