Oh the great fish.

Yo,
I know it's been sometime since I rapped at you but seeing as how I've had some car troubles I'm sure you can understand. I know everyone out there has a story out there like this, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to share mine with you. So there I was out there driving along in the festiva, god I love that car, and I was on this drive because Marsha (you remember her) kept telling me that I was her boyfriend. Cept the thing is I don't ever remember signing up for that. That's just when I come over though, on the phone it's usually a completely different story with her telling me to get me fuckin MGD out of her fridge and stay out of her lie. But then we'll both be over at Chris house, all messed up, and BLAMMO we're screwing again.
Either way I'm cruising and what should pop on but some fucking Queensryche, now that is a band, and seeing as how I couldn't think of any better riding music, I cranked it up and kept pushin on. Slammin tunes and after four beers can make a man not notice an odor but I sure could hear that sound, I knew it was the fucking radiator hose by the way it slapped harder every third time. So I pull over and as soon as I pop the hood I can tell, yup its ripped.
Now usually I carry a roll of duct tape in the fest for just this occasion but now I was remebering how Paul had, last time we were at Chris, tried to see if he could tape the Jenga thing together that he made and he didn't give me back my roll. So now I was really up the creek.
Although, many men would have given into despair, you readers know me, and thought it a perfect opportunity to fire up the bowl. So I walk over to the tree by the road and put fire to green. Still mainly thinking about Marsha, but mainly thinking about how the fuck IM going to get home......





Often times I wished my life stacked up something like this. Although it would seem at first glance Jim Anchower is hollow on the inside there is soemthing, I think, to be said for the man whose main priority in life I MGD. Although I would take issue with the man's beer choice, to the best of my reasoning show me a man that can put beer before anything and I'll show you a man who could survive a nuclear winter.
That, afterall, I think should be the true test of a man. True, some men have accumulated much material wealth, true others still have worked for a muscles the likes of which arguably surpass what nature intended, but all that melts away under threat of nuclear winter. The victor of that race is not the bright, nor the muscular nor the particularly good looking it is the man who can and willingly could drink rat piss.
Considered a repulsion by some and deft tactical training by others, this mindset is of the highest admiration. When and if there is nothing left, a man who has no floor, no sense of self, aside from feeling good and staying alive, will survive (Note the similarities that has to the sound tag of a movie).
Andrew, you might be saying, I understand your point, and your satire has left near paralyzed with laughter and stimulated my imagination to the point of inventing a new political system, but what about the chicks?
To that good sir I understand. To the average man, drinking rat piss would certainly lower your chances with the average women. However, it is these Herculean Vermin Imbibers whom stand the best chance. In this haphazardly thrown together scenario full of logic holes and half truths, THERE ARE NO OTHER MEN ON THE PLANET. THEIR SHEER TENACITY TO EXIST HAS LED TO THEM TO THE HOLY LAND. They are the last men on earth. In the land of the blind, the man with one eye is a king. So also it is with rat piss.

Until next time the is WKRP saying BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGER! (Johnny fever quote, recognize)