Posted 12:59 PM by Alfred

I’m in the middle of a heated fondue bake-off competition, but I will take a short time out to tell you about a certain incapacitated rhesus monkey that recently fell off the wagon and is really broken up about it. Let me tell you all about it.

Whut? That’s classified info? Jeez, Eddie, now you tell me, ok, yeah, um, I’m lookin’ like an idiot over here, buddy. Uh, do you at least have an idea of whut else I could write about? C’mon, anything, gimme a word, a phrase, a drop of flux capacitation, and I’ll run with it.

Cannonball Run? That’s all you got? An old Burt Reynolds movie? Fuck that.

I’ll think of my own topic. I got it, the Gucci crew. They sang about wearing Gucci all the time. Hell yeah, now that’s knowledge dropping to the extreme vandalous style.

Alright, yeah, fuck Gucci. And fuck louis vuitton.

And fuck Hilton. Ok, um, is it just me, or are the Hilton sisters two of the butt-ugliest broads to stain our airwaves in like, 5 decades? I’m sorry but they look like a pair of emaciated horses to me. Take them to either the race track or the glue factory and please get them off of my radar.

That was not so nice but they ain’t gonna read this crap so I’m not gonna lose sleep over it.

How’s that pic right there? Kinda cool I think. Normally I don’t mention the pictures you see in these hallowed halls. I prefer to ignore them like my mailman on Christmas, but I thought this one warranted an explanation. But not from me. No, that’s not my department. I’ll let inimitable local newspaperman Bob Krauss fill you in on the details. Suffice to say that the setting is Oahu and one of the folks in the background is former president Richard Nixon. For the rest, let your conscience by your guide. Conscience being a metaphor for your mouse button, which is actually kind of inapropos, as conscience is usually represented by a cricket. Oh well, nobody’s perfect.

It would be pretty annoying to have an anthropomorphised conscience sitting on your shoulder giving you shit about every little decision. Like, you’re thinking, mmm, chili dogs for lunch? And this damn green bug is there like “I heard a little whistle, and you know, Alfred, those dogs got bookoo calories there buddy, and you ain’t getting any younger,” and I’d be like “well yeah, Jiminy? Why don’t you fuck off and die? Better yet, why don’t you impale yourself on this fish hook and serve a fucking purpose for once i.e. winning me this bassmasters tournament?”

Yeah, that would make the most sense, probably.

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