As anyone who
follows this blog on a daily, semi-daily or a tri-daily basis knows . . .
. . . your
fearless, featherless blogadeer has been doing some house-cleaning. For reasons known only to your twisted minds,
the number of you idiots, fools and knaves who are reading this thing have spiked greatly in the past year.
Since many of you are rather new, it seems that I best be updating and
improving on the overall motif. Hence, a
bit of rearranging and dusting is in order.
First priority are the more recent blogs dealing with monkey-spankers,
free-ranging pit bulls, geezers vs. post office walls, and me and beach blanket
biking. As the urge moves me, I will
deal with the other, earlier blogs. Meanwhile. . . .
Damn!--While
we are hiding the car keys from the demented elderly among us, we better
be hiding their guns, too. Indeed,
we better be hiding everything else this highly disgruntled bunch of fossils has that
can be used to kill the rest of us.
Over at nearby
North Port the other day, some irate senior didn’t like the condition one piece of
his paid-for furniture had arrived in and so he refused to pay the delivery fee. Now, it would have been a lot smarter had old
Roy waited until the delivery-men had actually unloaded all the stuff before he
made his loud complaint. But nope, stupid is
as stupid does. And so, when Roy announced that he would not pay, the men prudently refused to unload the goods. Long story short: When the impatient movers
made ready to leave--with the furniture still in the truck—raging Roy stomped
into the house and returned waving a pistol and knife. Naturally, the startled movers ran for their lives.
When the blue
lights arrived, they disarmed our rocking chair Rambo and led him away to a
place where he might cool off a bit; a place with a lot less furniture.
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DAMN!!—There
seems to be an evil chemistry between those who are age-challenged (formerly
known as ‘old’) and canals. If it ain’t
gators sawing off a senior’s leg, arm, hand, foot, or head as they walk, creep
or crawl beside a canal (a body of water where Florida geezers apparently spend
the majority of their time), then it is one of them falling in and
managing to drown. Such was the case the other
day when an old gent found his 70-something wife floating belly up. No report yet on cause of death but my bet is
it will be ruled “death by canal” (a category of death unique to Florida) and dropped.
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DAMN!!!—Down at
Marco Island, seems one chap really took it to heart when the preacher asked the
beach wedding assemblage if anyone had a problem with the happy couple getting hitched. Well, part-time drunk and full-time fool,
Brad Stiner, wasn’t about to “forever hold his peace” when someone asks for a piece of his mind. In fact, rather than list the numerous
reasons he had against the marriage, the idiot proceeded to just throw insults,
curses and full cans of beer at the startled gathering. One 16-oz. can of Bud brained the best man and
bonked him senseless. When the groom, the
bride, the father-of-the-bride, the mother-of-the-groom, the brothers of the
bridesmaids, the sisters of the . . . when
the entire wedding party chased after Stiner, he sobered up just enough to beat
a hasty retreat over the sand.
Pretty quick,
cops found the booze bag and saved him from the mob. While Brad babbled on and on about his "rights"
and being an American citizen and a taxpayer and how he was a “local” and how the
beach belonged to him, cops led this imbecile away.
Lord, with a
wedding like this, wonder what the topic of conversation was at the reception? Wonder too how the honeymoon went?
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Fourth Time’s
the Charm—Florida “huffer,” Pat Henderson, has finally gone to that great high
in the sky. For those of you who have been
living under a rock these past ten years or so, “huffing” is a term for
breathing in aerosol paint vapor and other quick-acting poisons. It has become the death of choice among the underly-intelligent
and overly-stupid addictive personality crowd as a means to fry one’s brain in the
cheapest and speediest manner possible.
Seems poor
Pat just couldn’t be saved from himself.
A few weeks ago, he was arrested for huffing outside a Staples
store. A day later he was arrested for
huffing outside a Target Store. A few
days later he was arrested for huffing outside a Walmart. Had this continued Pat would have certainly
set some kind of record for the most number of huffing arrests outside different, but
not dissimilar, major American business franchises.
But alas, Pat Henderson is no more. His body was found a mouldering, not in a grave, but in his car the other day, a veritable methane gas bomb of decomposing guts and paint fumes. No mention in the report of the business outside of which the body was discovered but my money is on either an Office Depot, a Lowes or a Circuit City.
But alas, Pat Henderson is no more. His body was found a mouldering, not in a grave, but in his car the other day, a veritable methane gas bomb of decomposing guts and paint fumes. No mention in the report of the business outside of which the body was discovered but my money is on either an Office Depot, a Lowes or a Circuit City.
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