hey if you want to pay four dollars or get your back soaked by granny gushes then be my guest and enjoy your prayleans.After that ripoff my boy AJ set me up with a job at klondike candies and I am thinking hell yes free candy and I bet hot bitches work there because bitches love candy. Nope. Some lady named Irene runs it out of her kitchen. She crazy wanted to fuck but she looked like keith olberman with a gunt and smelled like burnt matches. She would be rubbing up against me all the time while I was trying to cut brittle and I would be like damn girl you had better stop grinding on me or that 3XL christmas sweater is gonna shrink down to a 1x and nobody wants that to happen. Finally I had to call EMS to come out and fake a heart attack just to get her to stop grabbing on me. Her brittle wasn't even good. And WTF is a praylean? Maple bullshit you sell for too much. I put in a solid three days of work there and I've got nothing to show for it
Third job I got (and still got) was a walk in job at Sportsman's Warehouse. I was pretty lucky, dude trevor who assistant manages there just happened to be this meth dude my mom one time stabbed with a phillips screwdriver. He showed me where he stabbed her and everything. I told him my mom can go to hell she still owes me like 83 dollars on a phone bill from like last march and he said as long as I promise to be his instrument of revenge he'd give me a job. Whatever dude. All I basically have to do is tell people what shotgun shells to buy, which is easy because I've got about 50 boxes of cop killer shells in my car trunk and I just take them out there and sell them some black talons.
One time I accidentally sold them to a cop but I talked my way out of it by convincing him they weren't only for killing cops you could also shoot them at like a taliban or an eagle or something. Then he told me, no shit, you can't shoot a fucking eagle. I was like shit yes you can just throw some meat out in a field those fuckers are dumb as hell just wait for them to land and blast them. And he was like no, it's illegal and I figured out a way to do it anyway but you have to drop a knife on the dead eagle and call the police to the scene. But that's still cool because an eagle body is worthless, you just pluck off all the feathers and put them in a ziplock and then when the cops show up say some drunk ass first nations dudes eating donairs came by on 4x4s and stoled all the eagle feathers for their headdresses and then drove off back to canada.
Actually the job is horrible. I've already got yelled at twice just for going back into where they have the stuffed bear and taking off this girl I know's pants and shirt on two totally different days. Also the manager, lyle, is a huge buttfuck and he told me I can't use the phone anymore to order papa johns extra larges no sauce no cheese nothing but those green pepper things and garlic butter on top of the pizza and have them sent out to that lactonic fucker todd. Dude ALWAYS accepts a pizza order he's seriously like a robot.
*says nothing, stares, deliberately dips pepper in garlic butter*I must have made the palins pay for like 30-40 pizzas in one day. I kept calling and telling the pizza place to put more fucked up pepper stems on next order. I bet that crazy fucker ate them all too. I bet if you went in there now he's got like a amityville room down in the basement made out of papa johns boxes where the evil comes out. Anyway guess I'll go back to being a soulless cog in a machine at sportsman fuckpalace.
Honest, the only thing keeping me alive right now is the thought of reviving my NHL career. I have been free-skating all the time and working on my elbow skilss. Get me on the skates becuase I am a fucking hockey viking. I will pillage that net. I will hold it down and give it kids. I am going to die in the middle of a power play. When I am dead put me on a hockey boat (boat made of broke down molson cases three thick shaped on tucker's kayak boat and taped up) with a huge joint burning in my mouth and push my body into the stream of the river styx so that I can live on in vanhalen as viking god's enforcer checking fallen angels into the glass until they lose so many teeth they look like bottle openers.
That's got to be worth something, right?
Celebrate diversity and inclusiveness at your next protest by not calling Donald Trump a nasty little-hands pisspig bitch.
A true patriot has exactly seven t-shirts, with seven slight variations on a single phrase that tell one powerful story. This is that tale.
Levi "HOckey" Johnston is a pro writer now and hockey expert since forever. He comments regularly on family life, politics, Alaska, hockey, vag, babies, babes, 4x4s, hunting, and stuff like that. Oh, yeah, and he was engaged to Bristol Palin and had one (two) kids with her, so...I can put anything here? He also fights like a devil and pounds poon like a demon. He's pretty much unbelievable. His life is a raw adventure to the root.