WHAT'S UP FAGS?!
Hey you homos, I got a letter from that future guns Navy SEAL dork saying it was almost time to do another gay ass meeting. He wanted to go to Syria, something about HALO drops or whatever.
I don't even own an Xbox. Those things are for little babies and homos.
So forget all that crap, here's the deal. Me and the boys have put together something we call the Bar-B-Q in the garage out of an old short bus.
We sawed the top off and installed a wood bar top, six different beers on tap, fully stocked shit. Then we added in these fold out propane barbecues. Ultimate party vehicle.
I was thinking take that to Miami, get some strippers. Sound good?
You ladies talk it over if you're not too busy kissing dudes at musicals or whatever. I've gotta go inject some testosterone into my dick and bone some broad that was in pornos.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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