As I watched the presidents speech tonight, I was surprised to receive a call by the W. "Hey, asshole... got any weed?"
"I thought you were on tv?"
"Oh, that's a fucking robot, man. My dad had that made while he was a working with Reagen, so he could run the damn thing for president, should I decide to do something else, you know?"
"Like travel around the world killing hookers?"
"How the hell did you know that?"
"You've told me this like ten times."
"Well, fuck ya then. And all you damn liberal weasels. You probably think the flood did all that damage down in New Orleans, don't you?"
"Well, yes..."
"That was all the looting, man. The water didn't hurt shit."
"What?"
"Look, man, I gotta go check out some of those new whack off devices that I have RAND corporation coming up with. I got them and like twenty think tanks working on this shit... maximizing my pornographic experiences, you know? Shit, man, I am styling. What the hell did you call me for?"
"To tell you that I um...well, I don't have any weed at all. Not even a bud... for me, that I can't spare...."
"Don't call me unless you got weed. Rock on, weasel balls."
Then he hung up. I sure as hell wish that guy would quit calling me, but I'm afraid to say anything because he has a tendency to have so many people killed.... I never should have told him I can get weed.
THOU SHALT NOT STEAL THE WRITINGS OF JOHN SCOTT RIDGWAY... YOU CAN EASILY GET PERMISSION FOR A NON COMMERCIAL REPRINT BY CONTACTING MY EMAIL.
Friday, September 16, 2005
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