Wednesday, June 11, 2008

GOD HATES MIDDLE AMERICA

If Katrina was because God hates the gays, this must be because God hates bloomin' onions and ranch dressing.

I’ve always wanted to motorboat through downtown.

I’d be far more sympathetic if the remaining half of that house wasn’t still larger and nicer than my apartment.

“Fuckin’ make me take out the garbage?! God damn house is gone, and she’s gonna make me take out the mother fuckin' garbage?!?”

"Fiddle sticks!"

"Look, I said it was mud. Now let's just leave it at that Johnny."

Way to be holding a giant can of refried beans right in front of the photographer, Mexican dude.

Let’s be honest, it looks like he needed a new home anyway. Oh, the storm did that?

That was a covered bridge. What’s the fucking point of the cover anyway?

"This is my stick-- relatively undamaged. That’s about it."

It’s hard to stay in the closet after a tornado flattened your entire home.

Lightning struck a tanker carrying N-grade gasoline. God’s an angry drunk.

I don’t mean to be a jackass, but shouldn’t there be a bunch of huge lightning rods near a million gallon gas tank?

“Like, how much shit in the water, Mom?”

Randy had been two hours and one act of God shy of having to sell his kayak.

“Listen Karen, I don’t think putting it in reverse is going to help right now. “

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