Sending Torture Awareness Month Out With A Bang

Since it's the last day of Torture Awareness Month tomorrow we can sweep it back under the rug and out of site once again.*

Ear worms, you know the catch tune you hear first thing in the morning that says with you all day.

Take me out to the ball game

Then there's ass crack, and it's blatant display. Why, why, why do parents insist on buying their kids clothes that are either too damned small or falling off their asses? Remember their are to blame parents, they're writing the check, so slap them, or perhaps a weggie is in order.

take me out to the crowd

I haven't seen a twelve year old with a job since my trip to China town to buy factory discount Nike's, man can those little bastards sew and talk about work ethic, kids these days could learn a thing or two from them. Twelve to fourteen hour days with only a lunch and occasional potty break, talk about productivity. Reminds me, I need some new Rockports a road trip may be in order.

buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks

Why is there a direct correlation between the size of a chic and the amount of crack she's decided to show? Its as if the fashionistas have decided they're going to use the same amount of fabric in all the clothes they make. With this principle in place as the waste expands in with it decreases in height, thus the ass crack phenomena. There, I've solved one of the great wonders of the world.

I don't care if I never get back

While I'm dogging fat chics, why are they the first one's headed to an elevator or escalator. I promise bessie a little bit of physical exercise ain't gonna harm you, hell you may even walk off the three bacon, egg and cheese biscuits you ate for breakfast.

Let me root, root, root for the home team

Heh, he said root. Root's a great word, with lots of uses, lots of meanings. Some clean, some not so clean. I'll let you decide what uses the song's referring too. Just remember I am root, you should feel privileged, you just got a preview of my wallpaper.

If they don't win it's a shame.

Speaking of shame, I should probably be ashamed of myself for writing this. But really I'm not. I do feel kind of sad though. See it's got to be pure torture you having read this far and really I haven't said squat.

For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out

Hey, me too. I'm outta here. Ever get the urge to go walk-about? Just grab your gear and head out the door? Me too. But it ain't happening this weekend. I'm headed to away with the missus, the phinlet and outlaws in-laws. Y'all have fun, I won't. Well I guess I will.

At the old ball game.

If you've got keys to the phish bowl feel free to use'em (think all pudding wrestling all the time), just keep it PG-13 my mom reads this drivel on occasion. Wait, that don't sound right, Mom's at least ten years over fifteen, but she don't look it.

Y'all have a safe and happy Independence Day.
Remember to say thanks to those who put their lives on the line so you could be independent.

* Regretfully not hippies were harmed in the writing of this message.