Hunting

Oh Dick Cheney, you so crazy. Shootin’ a 78-year-old in the face with a shotgun, and then taking off for a nice dinner while they dig 7 1/2 shot out of his face, neck, and chest. You really are the King of All Motherfucking Evil.

I, on the other hand, do not hunt caged quail(s?). I hunt motherfucking apartments, and I do this with no remorse or regret. I need a place to live, and DOOM comes to the apartment that betrays my sense of fiscal responsibility or style. I’m slipping out of work today (ninja *VANISH* __/~~poof~~\__) to go check out an apartment in San Francisco. Then I’m leaving work slightly early to go to JUDD’S WEDDING REHEARSAL. In case you forgot, I’m performing the ceremony. I’m dressed to the Nines and ready to Rehearse. What? You want me to perform the ceremony while doing a handstand? A tripod would be infinitely more workable, but OK, you’re the groom.

Tommorow’s the wedding, and then this weekend I gotta get on with the get on to finalize apartment plans. USAA won’t give me auto or renter’s insurance until I actually tell them a specific address. Also, since I’m going to visit The Wirksusesss next weekend (!), I need to move my shit in a hurry. Anyone who wants to help me move, I’ll buy you a burrito and a Hey Dude! commemorative plate.

— well we’ll be right back after these messages/fellas grab your nutsacks, chicks squeeze yer breastesses

59 thoughts on “Hunting

  1. how am i like that person in the movie? because i got no ride? or that is how i am not like the person i suppose. i’m a heavy breather? goold night you losers!

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