all those wannabe orc'n lobotomized crispy creamed conspiracy crazed and calloused STD's along with their vaginally warted Walmart beauty scabs marinate'n in jean nate' after bath body splash so of course ANY sane person (let alone politician) would think that they'd want to get to the bottom of the orange biscuit eat'n IMPEACHED TWICE FER LIFE boil on the butt of humanity who started the whole damn insurrection to begin with and launch a special council immediately!
i mean the rectally reprehensible repuglicunts spent in excess of $7 million
33 hear'ns total with 3 of them bein' aired live to the public just to try and humiliate HILLARY CLINTON only to get a meme of HILLARY look'n constipated from consume'n too much gouda on her caesar salad at lunch...nonetheless...it should be of no surprise that a majority of the crotchety cantankerous right still has their slither’n tongues rammed so far up that sack of regurgitated excrement and voted against ANY sort of investigation!
BUTT anyways...
as sad as it is how all these scenarios unfortunately happen "randomly"
and very senselessly unpatriotic...could someone please contact CTU pronto...ask fer Bauer...he'll know what to do within 24 hrs or his name ain't Jack
the week had just barely begun fer me...however...unfortunately...
a while back when i was too weak fer it to begin in the 1st place due to my sunday funday spill'n into just another manic monday...so after a very taxi'n day and calgon clearly was no where near to take me awaaay...i received a desperate phone call late one even'n from my very inebriated friend of my defunked fan club ask'n me fer a colostomy bag or a quarter...i couldn't quite understand what the hell she was say'n...
as her unequilibrium finally started to make sense...she had summoned me to help her out in the "beat my liver to a bloody pulp" game one more time sorta like a twisted episode with that ever intoxicatingly and breath takingly beautiful assistant of tv's "BEAT THE CLOCK fame starr'n ROXANNE who i had the pleasure of meet'n one christmas who completely turned my world upside with her stories from the yester years of hollyweird...however entertain'n as it sounded at the moment..
there was only 1 position on my mind that even'n (and NO it DID NOT include bein' on all 4's...well not by me anyways) and that was me in a missionary position with cool cucumber slices blanket'n my eyes and marinate'n my mug in dijon dressing...my weekly beauty regiment and dinner salad all rolled into one
he then had given me the option behind door number 2...
which i was hope'n was a brand new Amana radar range with beautiful bamboo stools...a kitchen counter top table made of brushed imitation formica and a full set of gourmet cookware from the makers of Cuisinart...thoguh i would have no such luck...it was just lame seats to...
the unfulfilled fantasy Hot Duo's and the Half Breeds
(fer those unable to purchase a ticket to the catch up train...i'm talk'n about those MN Twins and the Cleveland Indians...but this is my story...so deal with my interpretation...now sit down and shut up)
now where was i?...oh yea...thing is though kittens...
this was virgin territory fer me...i am not used to watch'n a bunch of guys in tights...swing'n their bats at each others faces with balls fly'n all over the place (ummm...quit roll'n yer eyes) well...not unless it involves an assortment of lubricational jams and jellies of course
though i had apparently met the very lickable likeable Joe Mauer years earlier at a drink'n establishment in the uptown area who had purchased me and my unfuckable friend a beer (hey i had already met my required charitable contributions fer the year at that point)...i was gonna need a lil more convince'n reason to waste 3 hrs of my life...
which said unfuckable friend assured me that CHER would be perform'n at the halftime show so i figered i might as well open my mind like a love starved lotus flower and pollinate my memory banks to new experiences
i was lost...what does one wear to a barbaric sport'n event like this?
the latest runway look by Jean Paul Gaultier?
or a more colorfully yet casual and completely comfy muumuu from the Mrs. roper collection?
of course said unfuckable friend had chosen a much more suitable look since he was devirginize'n me on his dime after all
we popped into the local non heterosexual water'n hole...
fer a gynecological exam in the restroom pre-game non nonalcoholic refreshments and then it was off to the game
though the baseball stadium was only a mere 2 blocks away...
we were waaaay too tired to be bothered to walk it so we summoned a local street cabbie to take us to our desired destination...but the damn ass might as well have been doin' the sugar shuffle at the rate we were move'n...we should'a just gotten out and walked it but then we remembered we'd look alot more important to the pheasants if we are bein' waited on
once we reached the gate...much to our surprise...a friend had take'n our box seats inside with him instead of leave'n them at the gate...so we hissed and stomped of course i hadda pull out the really big guns and let her know that i was indeed the unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe to get any sorta service...
she looked at me with her beady lil eyes and was like "listen...i don't know who you are...or where you came from...but you most certainly don't fit in this arena...why...yer not even properly dressed"
i was like..."listen sister...if i wanted yer opinion...i'll beat it outta ya!"
(now where have i heard that before?)
after security gave us our complimentary pat down...we hunted fer our seat'n location and then frantically searched fer our kick ass seats in the nose bleed section the closest water'n hole cuz we were goin thru thee most
dramatic withdraw symptoms and from what i was to understand...it was the bottom of the 2nd in'n though i could see no one worthy enough in sight fer me to fulfill that position so luckily we found the the closest bar and sitt'n next to us was this dad and son duo that looked more like a phone call away from "the Courtship of Eddie's Father" on the spice channel
once we found our actual kick ass seats on the front line...we realized one thing...that there was a bar stool that must be freeze'n to death right about now somewhere...and our chilled hearts were about to go into cardiac arrest...so after the most gruel'n 60 seconds of our entire existence were wasted...sitt'n in places where we knew we absolutely did not belong...
we downloaded the latest non nonalcoholic's divine'n rod app and set our GPS to stun anyone that got in our way and by the time we had located our desired destination...the ass holders had welcomed us with open arms as the bartender lined up the medication fer our consumption and despite it bein' attached to some barbaric sport'n event...i was comforted in the fact that CHER would soon be perform'n once they reached the half point in the game
i couldn't help but notice though that our bartender couldn't help but notice
that i was thee unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe my glass was empty so he filled it back to the brim (though i was ready to fill mine with him)
i asked him politely intoxicated when was CHER's halftime performance goin to begin and don't you hate when this happens to MEEE? he looked at me like i was the crazy one...then he tells me that she was here last nite...FUUUUCK! why does this always happen to me?
absolutely intoxicatingly inconsolable...we packed our regret at the bottom of the 8th...or 9th...seriously though...who really cares at this point since we were now at the bottom of our barrel and headed over fer a nite of classically trained chalk board scratch'n singers ruin'n all the top 40 hits you can think of commonly known as crapaoke
though we never got to see Miss Sarkisian turn back time...
we tore it up...and i mean that litterally...we hacked into "just like jesse james" like Lizzy Borden at a birthday party...luckily this momentous moment will NOT be televised anytime soon and though we never did find out how many touch-downs...baskets...goals or whatever the Twins needed to beat the Indians to a bloody pulp in the 4th round...it was an experience id' rather not experience again without bein' properly informed of the halftime show entertainment
though i should thank my stalkers fer finally popp'n my baseball cherry...
i unconsciously cannot since i was force'd to participated in that damn selfie ritual of look'n like some hostage held at gun point bein' forced to fake a smile to assure my loved ones i'm bein' treated fairly...i wish i could'a gave 'em more in return...
though i think a jug of everyone's fav-o-rit window cleaner will suffice!
thanx fer join'n in on my little adventure from my past...but i must bid ado
cuz it's time fer me to pay it forward...and pop someone else's cherry...so i gotta make a quick run fer supplies
so kindly GET OFF MY DRESS!
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