|James Shuckler, Flag Salesman||Listen, I have just as much sympathy for those little illegals as anyone else. Whenever I manage to crawl out of the FlagWorks LLC head office -- which isn't often, since that thing's got A/C and a minibar -- and visit the assembly line, I see nothing but sad, overworked, brown faces hunched over the FreedomStitcher 4000. I can't help but feel sorry for these poor souls and their predicament, but I'll tell you the same thing I told the cops: I found that raft on a fishing trip. And now "President" Barry Soetoro wants to give these human leeches amnesty? Bad move, bub.|
|Eugene Scardoza, Retiree|
Just last Thursday I was at the Old Country Buffet to celebrate my eighth successful valve replacement by those kind souls down at the VA Hospital, and the man cutting my roast beef didn't speak a lick of English! So instead of getting a single two-inch-thick piece AS I REQUESTED, ol' Speedy Gonzales slides wafer-thin slice after slice until I lay the hammer down right there on the serving table. You know how much elbow grease it took to cut apart each of those pieces? The doctor said I'm supposed to avoid strenuous activity!
Press 1 for English? How about press 2 for outrage?
|Kunal Patel, Food Services|
Each morning a sack is thrown over my head and I am driven to what is called the "Thank Goodness For Fridays Restaurant" (I have heard whispers from the chefs) to wash dishes for 12 hours. In exchange for this service I am given a ride to an undisclosed location and a plate of what is called "loaded potato skins." Also I am able to keep the sack for use as a pillow.
I received one of my wife's fingers in the mail just yesterday so I know she is safe and happy in her new life at the rendering plant.
|Mitch Redgrave, Grand Wizard||I have personally caused what my second ex-wife called "episodes" by pronouncing the names of menu items the TRUE AMERICAN WAY in Mexican restaurants. We as a country are losing everything to the illegals. Just this year I found out that the Mexicans are trying to take our finest drinking day, Cinco de Mayo, away from hardworking Americans such as myself. Sometimes I Mexican't believe what is happening to our country, but I guess that's what happens when you let a you-know-what run the show. Has D.W. Griffith's fantastic documentary "Birth of a Nation" taught us nothing? (It's on YouTubes for all those interested.)|
|Beck Chumplin, Disability Collector||I'm on disability for getting drunk at work and falling down the stairs, and thrice weekly a health worker comes to my apartment to clean out my various crevices and attend to my bedsores. I specifically requested no Latinas or Latinos, so boy was I shocked (NOT) when some lady named Sanchez showed up at my door. I gave specific instructions to keep away from my priceless mint in box Spawn action figures, and she had the nerve to give me attitude!|
Le sigh, and I'm sure she went right back to her shantyhouse and told her ten switchblade-flicking roommates about the treasure trove hanging on my bedroom wall. Since those things are increasing in value by the second, let's just say I'll be sleeping with one eye open.
|Beth and Marty Greenberg, Wild About Bus Trips||As an American, I was able to get my wife the lobotomy she so desperately needed by hopping the border and taking advantage of the almighty dollar's value in Old Mexico. If we let any more of these fence hoppers over here, what's to stop them from setting up their own practices and charging more than 100 dollars for such a valuable service? Think of all the husbands that would be unable to park their wives in front of Mama's Family reruns all day so they can go play golf as God intended!|
It may sound cruel to some of you unenlightened folks out there, but if you catch Beth at the right time with that glazed-over look in her eyes, it's almost as if she's in Raytown itself. You try getting that with one of them new, fancy TVs.
|Gary Scardoza, President, New Freederton|
Listen shitstack, my father did not hack off his own toes with a rototiller for the sake of family-raising/whiskey-buying government aid just so some mud-tunneling bean eater could mariachi over a fence and do the same.
Now watch this drive.
|Norma Fedlick, Rampant Knitter|
A Mexico man moved in the house down the street and I hope President Oboe does something about that soon.
|Kunal Patel, Food Services|
And now a toe! Surely my wife is in riches for being able to send such treasures through the postal service!
|Beth Greenberg, Vegetable|
|Rick Tavaram, Sexual Offender||Tell you what, dude. You show me an illegal immigrant, and I'll show you someone that's going to put yours truly out of a job. Due to the mind-altering properties of Children's Robitussin mixed with benzene (I call it a Harvey Ballbanger), I'm only able to work jobs that don't tax what's left of my mental faculties. My first day as a roofer, I straight-up told my boss "Listen, man. Before I do any work I gotta get really fucked up first." So when I get back 9 hours later with a fistful of animal tranquilizers and a can-do attitude, I'm greeted with a finished job and a distinct lack of compensation.|
If I didn't have to run to the needle exchange place, I'd sit down and compose a nice little letter to Obama. Lucky for him, I've already cut up all of my nice magazines.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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