Rectum Rockets Red Glare
I just got a visit from two uptight, well dressed, big brained agents from the NSA! Yip. I answered the door in my Bat Girl boxers. (She’s near and dear to my heart, and thankfully, my sack). They sternly flashed their impressive NSA ID’s and asked if they could come in and speak with me for a moment. My mind quickly turned to this blog and I shit my pants. Damn, had my quaint ramblings actually gotten me onto some bullshit watch list? I thought, huh, not a bad accomplishment for a pissed off redneck that doesn’t post that often. They told me Uncle Dick, formally Uncle Sam, was very concerned about the massive quantity of Papa Johns rectum rockets I’ve been ordering lately. Actually, they said pizza. I call ‘em rectum rockets ‘cause they make my guts explode. It was an intense, unsettling visit but it was worth it. I’ll sleep better knowing that Uncle Dick is so concerned about the health of my rectum that he has an entire government agency monitoring my phone calls and eating habits. Thanks Dick.PS: Dear NSA, Please don’t share my dietary habits with Anthem Blue Cross/Blue Shield or my premiums will go through the roof.
posted by hickonfire @ 8:50 PM
3 comments
