Friday, September 22, 2006

Poop on your house, poop on your house, it's just little old me and I WILL poop on your house

I wish I had a clown car.  I'd ride the hell out of it.  Speedin down the street, knees hunched up, pants off, hair flying in the wind, honking the horn and hitting the children who won't get out of my way.

I'd walk up to someone and say, "Hello, you look just like a retard I used to know!"  

Then the cackling laughter and the thrusting of hips and the flop flop flopping of dong to thigh, dong to thigh, dong to chest.

Then, bam! Clown car!  Speeding away from all harm and maybe I'd poop a little to prevent chase.  A bit of a smoke screen but in poop log fashion.

Another thing?  I think the Jews should move to Salt Lake City so we can all tell our little private jokes about Jewtah.

But they won't cause they don't do things just to convenience me, anymore.