Good Morning Campers,
Okay, so I’m a pessimistic little bastard by nature, but even I didn’t figure this shit would be going on this long. This is the modern age of computers, it’s not like we have to drive the horse and wagons from the miles away to the closest village, put white or black stones in a box and then send the results to Washington by P0ny Express … THIS IS THE MODERN AGE.
Now some states are talking about recounting … because you didn’t do it right the first time? I don’t know about you, but that was like one of the very FIRST things I was taught in school, was how to count. It’s got to be that new math shit they are teaching in school now. Cause I know with that old math, when you add 2 + 2, you came up with 4 pretty much every single time. If you guys are coming up with something else with your new math, you’re doing something wrong!
Maybe we just ought to do it by state. Everybody who wants Biden for president move west of the Mississippi River, everyone who wants Trump move east of the Mississippi River and then Biden runs the west half and Trump runs the east half … put up a border crossing at the river and let it go at that. See which half does best for a couple of years. If you don’t want Trump or Biden … move to Hawaii or Alaska. … or Anywhere else in the world. Dealer’s choice.
But!!!!! Not bitching or complaining or rioting or looting or any of that shit allowed!!!
Maybe we’d all be better off.
It’s a plan.
Can you see all these travel trailers and caravans and shit moving east and west?
“Where are you going?
“Goin’ to the promise land!”
“Detroit! Now that the damn democrats have moved out!”
Yeah, whatever …
Okay, so we need to laugh! Just had root canal done this morning and I’m friggin’ miserable! Need to get my work done so I can take some drugs, take some alcohol, get messed up and forget about things so I can … go to fucking work tomorrow!
What the hell happened to my life? I used to be able to fly around, burn a few villages, snack on a few virgins, you know, do dragony things. Now?
If money is the root of all evil, why do they ask for it at church?
My swimsuit told me to go to the gym today, but my sweatpants were like … nah girl, you’re good.
This is an oldie, but goodie.
DATING MY DAUGHTER RULES
Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk you’d better be delivering a package, because you’re sure not picking anything up.
Rule Two: You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter’s body, I will remove them.
Rule Three: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots.
Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, In order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.
Rule Four: I’m sure you’ve been told that in today’s world, sex without utilizing a “barrier method” of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.
Rule Five: In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day.
Please do not do this.
The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is “early.”
Rule Six: I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter.
Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you.
If you make her cry, I will make you cry.
Rule Seven: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge.
Instead of just standing there, why don’t you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?
Rule Eight: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:
Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool.
Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight.
Places where there is darkness.
Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness.
Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her throat.
Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chainsaws are okay.
Hockey games are okay.
Old folks homes are better.
Rule Nine: Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a pot-bellied, balding, middle-aged, dim-witted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe.
If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house.
Do not trifle with me.
Rule Ten: Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy outside of Hanoi.
When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home.
As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight.
Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car – there is no need for you to come inside.
The camouflaged face at the window is mine.
I may or may not have enacted several of these rules or variations thereof on Izzy in the past and plan to continue to do so in the future. Since the Statute of Limitations is far from being up and upon the advice of counsel I refuse to say more on the grounds of self-incrimination.
Actually the Dragon’s Rules for Dating My Daughter are pretty straight forward:
Rule #1: You fuck up and I eat you.
Rule #2: If you make her cry, I eat you and your entire family.
Rule #3: See rules 1 and 2
And … this is one of the reasons I no longer have a job as a tattoo.
I’m super lazy today.
It’s like normal lazy, but I’m wearing a cape.
Life should be more like hockey. When someone pisses you off, you just beat the shit out of them, then sit in a penalty box for 5 minutes.
I’m not sure about an inner child, but I have an inner idiot that surfaces every now and then.
I am a little ashamed to say that I spent some time as a very wealthy woman’s kept pet.
I heard what you did for a Klondike Bar.
When I’m famous, everyone will say, “I used to follow him on Facebook!” or “I worked with that guy!” or “I’m not surprised he took hostages!”
I sent that “Ancestry” site some information on my Family Tree.
They sent me back a pack of seeds, and suggested that I just start over.
Went out last night and got really wasted. I woke up in the middle of
The night next to some chick who was snoring and farting, so I knew I made it home OK!
The wife’s back on the warpath again. She was up for making a sex movie
Last night, and all I did was suggest we should hold auditions for her part.
I woke up this morning at 8, and could smell something was wrong. I got downstairs and found the wife face down on the kitchen floor, not breathing!
I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. Then I remembered McDonald’s serves Breakfast until 11:30.
Bought the missus a hamster skin coat last week. Took her to the fair last night, and it took me 3 hours to get her off the Ferris wheel.
Grammar: The difference between feeling your nuts and feeling you’re nuts.
Boss: Do you think you can come in on Saturday? I know you enjoy your weekends but I need you here.
Me: Yeah, no problem. I’ll probably be late though as public transport on weekends is slow.
Boss: What time will you get here?
And that my friends is it for today. Gotta hit the rack cause I gotta work tomorrow. I hope you have a wonderful weekend.
Love and happiness to you all.