I just th-AAAAAH! Fuck I looked at the picture while I was typing this shit in.Man, if I wasn't so fucking hungry that shit would make me put down this arbys beef and cheddar.
So the main reason I am writing this shit isn't some kangaroo courts bullshit Mrs. Palin said on Facebook or Tucker messing up Brooke's guts, or nothing. It's how my star is getting hotter by the day because I am working the fuck out of Hollywood.
That's what Tank tells me anyway. He got me doing all kinds of publicity stumps and whatnot to "drive interest" to my "property" whatever the fuck that is. I told him my mom owns two acres in Wasilla but I don't got shit other than my truck, which I still got 2 years on, and my shotguns.
Tanks says its all working though and that my price is going up. I guess that's good. Last weekend he had me go to this thing called the Teen Choice Awards he sent me with this lady who talked really loud and she smelled kind of like the equipment room for hockey.
She was pretty I guess in that way a wig mannequin is, like, you know all brown and fake and like if you just see it out of the corner of your eye you think you see it smiling at you or it has claws or some shit. Then like you look right at it and the fucking thing is never kim cattrall getting ready to sick herself on your nuts, it's just some dead monster looking thing.
I think it was called Kathy Griffin. Her face was like a raisin rolled in cinnamon and she always screams. Then I had to go on Larry King with her the next night and that shit was bogus. She kept making jokes about how we fucked and I straight up wanted to charge the desk and yank that blouse shit up on her apple crisp head and lay knuckles down like BLA-DOW BITCH! NOW YOU ARE FOR REAL FUCKED!
Because this is bullshit insemnuating that I had interredcourse with her. One time my buddy Hooch found a dead raccoon that was like wedged into a branch on a tree and it was shaking. And we poked it with a stick and it fell and hit a rock and busted open and this big brown ball of worms fell out. I took a picture with my cell phone but it didn't turn out right. Goddamn it was nasty. I shot it a couple times with my 20 gauge but that just spread the things around.
Tank and this cathy lady made me do this shit it's called a photop. What the fuck ever I call it nasty as hell.I would rather put my dick in that dead raccoon full of giant worms than this lady. I would rather expose myself to those slithery fucking things probably go up my dickhole and all fucked up with so many animal diseases I'll end up as a werewolf. I would rather fuck that than this lady screeching at me like a bird and looking like a wigged ginger snap somebody drew eyes on with a magic marker.
Holy shit, Tank, my n-word, I can't take this shit anymore. I am waking up with the shakes and having to eat vicodins like skittles. And you know how I love skittles. Watching slap chop commercials on the hotel at 3 AM because CNN took away my per deem thing so I can't order anymore censored pornos on the TV and I can't sleep because I get some Vietnam flashback shit of Mrs. palin chasing me around in a helicopter for my forepaws and that fucking California raisin crypt keeper riding my timber like she is gonna clear cut that shit.
I got to be thinking about my kids. My boy is going on trial and my other boy is getting ready to learn words. Got to figure out some vocabulary for Tripp before Todd teaches him about skidoos and oil pipes and shit and next think you know the kid wants to ride beef 24/7. Fuck that.
But other than that my life rules so what the fuck ever.
A broadcasting legend pleads with the world of the living.
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.