See? That’s precisely why I moved to the southwest. When we sit on the stony ground out in these parts, we do it with cold beers and grilled buffalo steaks. Not lemonade, cigarettes, and an assful of frostbite. No wonder you people are so goddamned miserable all the time…
Dream Academy, “Life in a Northern Town” (which I must admit I really do dig).
***
for this dude.
Yeah, well, I dare you come sit on the ground in these here parts. Back home in my northern town it may have been Country Time, Marlboro and a sore butt, but at least I was safe. Now if I sit outside anywhere, panhandlers harass me, I have to dodge mounds of garbage and hypodermic needles, rats eye me like last week’s cold pizza, and idiot tourists stand at the corner of Bleecker and Christopher and ask me where the #&$^%!! Greenwich Village is.
Sit on the ground here you’ll get pissed on by possums, stepped on by ducks, run over by a Puerto Rican teenager driving a 2001 Ford Expedition with a “Boricua!” sticker on the back window, and then the fire ants will eat your corpse. (Can you tell I’m getting into a “Florida summer sucks” mood? Yes, I am. And I didn’t mention the alligators because they’ve all been eaten by the rabid, perverted water fowl that we have here. There is no escape but THE GRAVE.)
Here, the wild mustangs run free, the deer and the antelope play, and Michael Moore will eat right out of your hand (though I’d still wear asbestos gloves were I you, just to be on the safe side).
Ah hey…..
Michael Moore is not in your habitat. He’s here in mine. Trust me on this one – I’m not just basing this on newspaper reports.
#%$%#@!! numbnuts follows me from Michigan to New York. It can’t just be a coincidence!