Fuh King La
November 2, 2009
La-la-la-la-fucking-la
And that should be said in a specific cadence.
As in: La-la-la-la.
Fuh-king-la.
Got it? Good.
Now put on my shoes and skip around the woods.
And chant. You happy lucky idiot.
–
I’m happy because the new science says I should be happy. And I’m all about science. Taste this from the Boston Globe:
Activists are dissatisfied with the drift of the times and outraged at the misdeeds of their ideological enemies. But they are also, it turns out, enjoying their lives more than the rest of us. At least if recent research is to be believed, political activism, no matter the cause, seems to make people happy – even if they don’t win an election or triumph in a ballot initiative.
Yeah, and then – before you know it – you change your name to something like…Boots.
–
I’ve seen enough of Wes Hamilton for one day, thank you. Smug bastard. Standing in line at the Uncommon Market, smiling broadly because his stupid Dolphins beat my lame Jets, and then heading to work as the co-owner of the best goddamn brew tavern in the region. Snarky Boy sez: Whatever.
–
Heard on the street: If it’s pierced, it swells. And when it swells, it hurts. You just gotta know that going in.
–
And I didn’t even mention that I hate the Yankees.
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They’re NOT YOUR Jets; they’re MY Jets. I was there from the start. Namath signed my balls–not my Footballs, my BALLS. And then he gave me a switchblade. Wes and his Dolphins’ shit is a CIA Dark Op.
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