It’s that time of year again. US Thanksgiving and then Black Friday. Tomorrow’s the day Jeff Girdlestone hunkers down. Someone once jokingly told him it was called Blacks Friday. He’s under the impression that on this one day each year his delightfully racist humour won’t go over so well. He’s wrong. While scumbags across the border are rushing the doors of the local Target for $1.49 tampons, I doubt that even a barage of Gstone N-words would be noticed. Nonetheless, he won’t be going across the border tomorrow. He’ll be cozy in his bed, surrounded by 2 toasty warm party trays and a tepid glass of rye. He’ll nap in the afternoon and wake up for an evening session of burning 10 dollar bills. After the sun has set he’ll cruise the streets for curb garbage. No, he doesn’t need a broken pair of skis, but he’ll take ’em. God bless him for cleaning up the streets and making an embarrassing disgrace of his backyard.
In somewhat unrelated news, if whomever has discarded the below piece of not-so-wooden furniture on the Garrison across from old Lee’s Golden Palace doesn’t remove it soon, I think I’m just gonna lose it.
Supposed to get flurries within the next week. Nothing classes up a town like 6-month old junk with a light dusting of snow. It’s seriously been there for months. Each time I pass this area, I pray that it won’t be there. But each time, just like the blood stains in my underwear, it’s still there. Anyone wanna stop and pick that fucking thing up there’s a 5 dollar bill in it for you. Seriously. I’ll pay you*. I’ve spent far more on far less. Call my bluff. Call it, motherfuckers!
\* I reserve the right not to pay you.