I hate Chicago!
Like seriously, fucking hate it!
I know, I know, great way to start eh? Let’s talk trash about the motherland, ole Bobby Dean must not want to win!
But seriously, why not move down to a place like Texas where the highs are a balmy 63 degrees, instead of in the low 20s!? People wonder why I got fat again, it was because winter was coming and I hate when I can’t feel my testicles. I got used to not being able to see them, but boy when you can’t feel them, that’s a whole ‘nother level of panic!
Most people are smart, they’re inside with the heater cranked up, or in their car with the heater on blast. Wherever they are they aren’t dumb enough to be standing outside a busy intersection, holding a cardboard sign which reads:
“I’m kinda famous
What’s a guy to do? I still don’t have a fucking contract. And a guy’s gotta eat!
Then on top of being unemployed, my accounts get hacked by the Russians! My money is gone, my Twitter is suspended, my porn memberships were canceled, now my girlfriend will dump me when I can’t pay for her monthly OnlyFans fees.
Then I find out my kiddo has the coco, and I just saw her a couple of days ago and gave her hugs, like a good father would. So yeah, life is looking pretty fucking bleak right about now!
“Hey!” a voice calls out from an approaching mid range SUV, the window barely cracked so as to not let all the nice warm air out. “How are you famous?”
Without missing a beat I rip my coat off, followed by my long sleeve sweater, and the sweat drenched t-shirt underneath, all the while I begin singing, “You’re the best, around!”
“I don’t get it…” the driver says before rolling up their window and quickly driving away, leaving me in the rearview mirror, to slowly put my discarded clothes back on. Sadness envelopes me as I realize my mistake, I shouldn’t have thrown my clothes on the ground, cause now they’re wet from the snow…
Back in place, my clothes on, and the sign in hand I flip it over so it now reads:
“I’m kinda famous
Suck Dick: $1
“Sure has been a slow day, huh buddy?” the welcoming voice of Doozer startles me and causes me to jump, as I look over at my friend standing beside me.
“Wha… How long have you been here!?” I ask no one in particular as I look down at the sign in his hand, which reads:
Fuck my life.
I’m normally the nice one of the bunch. Jiles is the dry, sarcastic, asshole. Dooze is in your face, abrupt, straight to the point, dick. And I’m the fat, loveable, loser who people can’t help but cherish. So this may seem like an out of left field kind of question, but who the fuck are the Bad Guys?
I know I’m usually asleep at the wheel here, and I don’t pay much attention, but was there a memo I missed? Maybe some Crackin’ News that snuck on by me? OOop, wait, no, nothing on the newswire.
So how the fuck am I supposed to talk bad about two guys, or are they gals, and they’re just being facetious with The Bad “Guys” moniker? Anywho, how am I supposed to run these two gender neutrals into the ground?
You may be asking yourself, why would I run them into the ground, when normally I never mention my opponents anyway? To which I say, touché good sir, or madam, touché! Why break habit at this point in my life, I like setting the bar low and still failing to meet expectations. It’s a skill.
I look forward to making your acquaintances this weekend Bad Guys, to welcome you two into the wonderful world of High Octane. Don’t gloat too much when you beat the Bandit’s, we’re not worth bragging over.
And don’t worry, I’ll bring the cupcakes!