Listen up.  I get a little tired of your short, little attention spans.  What would you have done in the Victorian Era?  Besides lie back and think of England.  One wonders if that advice applied to the Poofs as well as the rest?  Likely not.  The English Bulldog does not condone sodomy of any kind.  Doggy style, presumably, is still okay.  Good show, old chap.

Are you still paying attention?  Doubtful.  It is probably the time for WAGS or the Real Housewives of Atlanta.  Just record the show.  After all, the theme for every episode is the same.  In the land of fake boobies, nothing is sacred.  Honestly, they could save themselves some money and shoot the show in the trailer park.  Call it The Real Baby’s Mommas of MountainGlen (trailer park).  Spring for some breast augmentation and some bling and nobody would know the difference.  Plus, it would distribute the wealth a little, thus appealing to the socialist demographic.  Then again, who cares about those dirty, pinko, flag-hatin’ bastards?  I sure don’t.

If you are a government agent, please take special note of the above.  The MO does not care, explicitly or implicitly, about any socialist entities, either living or dead and he burned his Che Guevara t-shirt long ago when he realized just how far from reality he had really strayed. 

Just making sure that I don’t get caught up in any Purges.

Speaking of purging, you don’t hear as much about bulimia as you used to.  Is that not a thing anymore?  In my day, young women were sticking their fingers down their throats on a pretty consistent basis.  At least they weren’t fat.  You don’t see a lot of bulemics with diabetes.  Or muffin tops.

I have never really liked muffins (I’m speaking literally).  I also don’t care for the group Alice in Chains much.  Cool band name, very few good songs.  Other than Man in the Box and Rooster.  Those are good.  Apparently, sometimes the blind squirrel finds two nuts.  But that is how he made himself blind in the first place.  Hahahahahaha.  Masturbation jokes never grow old.  But masturbators do.  Such is the cycle of living.

On that note, I hear that scientists are still trying to figure out how to make us live longer.  Much longer.  Like hundreds of years longer.  That is a terrible idea.  Can you imagine teaching six grade English for three hundred and seventy-seven years?  How about working in the produce section of the grocery store for four centuries?  I shiver to think about it.  And the thing is, somebody would have to keep doing those jobs.  Additionally, if nobody is dying then there has to be a moratorium on having babies.  That means everybody stays where they are.  Indefinitely.

The very concept of extremely long life is obviously the product of people who are not familiar with drudgery.

“Can I get a price check on asparagus, please?” Mina says, for the sixteenth million time.  Her customer nods and grumbles under his breath.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where my manager is.  Price check on Twelve, please.”  Five minutes pass.

Bang!  Bang!  Mina shoots herself twice to make sure.

“Cleanup on Twelve, please,” Alice says.  “Sir, you can come over here if you like.  That aisle is closed for now.”

The customer looks down and shakes his head.  One day, he figures, scientists will find a way to bring back people from the dead.  Maybe then he could get back home on time for the Real Housewives of Central Asia.  Those Mongolian women have some truly substantial whammers.

Whammers.  The man laughs.  He can remember when back to when everyone just called them Titties.  Those were the days.

He looks at his watch/phone/tv/ ATM.  He hates his wife for making him get asparagus.  He wishes she would die.

But that is going to be awhile.