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Crotchrag
the Magnificent escapes from his gasoline-filled
garage once a month to rummage through my trash
and steal all my used Band-Aids. I'm not sure
what that furry thing he's wearing on his back
is, but it looks like one of the hundred things
hanging under the bottom of my Chrysler. Jack
Mankins has a dog problem, you see. He's got too
many goddamn dogs, that's his problem. I do a
little population control on the weekends when
I'm not out watching those movies about kids who
get thrown in jail for doing dope.
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"Chef
Boys-Are-Neat" adds that little special touch
to every meal he prepares; the touch of his cow-molesting
hands. Never, ever, ever eat at The Long Street
Inn Diner. I ordered a bowl of goddamn chili there
and you know what happened? Well I forgot what
happened but I know it fucking pissed me off and
there was some greaseball in the back room who
looked like this joker so I guess my advice is
to watch your step if you know what's good for
you, because all bets are off when you leave your
goddamn house in the morning and you forget to
bring your wallet or wear pants and the fucking
cops pull you over because your eyes aren't so
great anymore and 95 mph looks a lot like 35 mph.
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And
another thing, I didn't even see no goddamn 35
mph sign anywhere. I didn't even see the "School
Crossing" sign because they make signs out
of some ultra-reflective shit these days and the
light just drills into my eyes and I can't see
shit for like 3 days after I come back, like the
time I get home and drank a carton of what I thought
was milk but turned out to be Keopectate. Besides,
kids are fast and they're used to running so make
them get the fuck out of my way because I'm a
veteran and I have rights goddammit.
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If
you're gonna get a pet rabbit, for God's sake,
don't deep fry its carrots and lettuce before
feeding it. Rabid Rabbit here shovels another
funnel cake down her throat. I think I saw this
lady at Wal-Mart once, stocking up on Circus Peanuts
for the apocalypse.
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Gothic Gary raids mom's underwear drawer and comes
up as a winner! Good job you miserable sack of
anally-assaulted puppy dogs, you're going to be
one of my first victims once I get the mortar
in my toolshed fixed and working.
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Thank God this
fatass rolled his doughy tubby carcass onto
a waterbed... there ain't no industrial springs
that could withstand the pressure of 10 atomic
bombs rolled up and compressed into two pasty
white asscheeks. And I should know, my friend
Eddie Carver used to work at a spring factory
on the assembly line, stapling stuff to the
metal things, so I know what I'm talking about
and don't think that I don't because I do.
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