I Get Mad

This is America, and I can say this because of the lesser known fact about the fact that this is a free country. When Rush Limbaugh is on the radio do you don’t have idea that he has a fatty flabby neck, but when he shows up on television, it’s the only thing you can think about. As he talks, it shudders and vibrates, and you think “Get that flabby puffy neck out of my face you stupid flab face.”

I have some more things to get mad about. Don’t pick your nose when you drive. That makes me furious to think that you’re putting your finger in your noise and digging out dried snot and then you push the buttons on the ATM. Especially don’t use the ATM after me if you’re just going to go and put your finger in your noise as you rock out to the Beach Boys in your Pontiac. I just fixed my septic tank.

If you want to wrestle me, just say it. Don’t look at me sideways and get shifty. I might just rush you and go right into a Full Nelson hold, and make you eat gravel on my driveway. And stop farting in my door way. My cat Frankenstein knows who farted, always. He was trained.

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