Part
of me wishes that I could live back in the fifties. Only part of me because I’m
black and the only reason why a black guy wouldn’t get his ass kicked in the
fifties is because everyone was too busy beating up a gay guy or a Catholic.
The part of me that’s dense enough to think I can get away with being a black
guy before the eighties really wants to go, though. This might not be accurate,
but I’m pretty sure that feelings were invented in the sixties by the fucking
hippies. Before that, people were just sociopathic blank slates and it was
cool. You worked a twelve hour day at a job you hated and that was killing you
slowly and then you came home and beat your wife. There was no conversation
about why the beating occurred or how anybody felt about the beating. It was
like the rain. It just happened.
And
women. You could hospitalize a woman for flinging her feelings around. Not,
like smash in her rib cage, although men did that anyway. You could literally
have your wife committed to a mental hospital for feeling too much. Like with
everything else, there was a protocol. When you wanted to get rid of your wife,
without murdering her (Pussy.), you first beat her, as always. Then, you took
her to a doctor, who would masturbate her to cure a good, old-fashion case of
Hysteria. If the problem persisted, then you would repeat that action three
times and then, you got to dump her at the funny farm. You just drove up and
told the doctors that her vagina was broken or something.
“Harry,
I…I can’t have this baby. Physically, I’m capable but if I bring this life into
this world, I know I’ll resent it and I know I’ll resent myself for hating it.
I can’t think of anything crueler to do to a child.”
“Peg,
I heard you. I understand what your saying and I’ll tell you what. I’m going to
force you to have that baby but you won’t have to take care of it. I’ve been
sleeping with my secretary. She’ll take care of the tike and you, my darling,
will get a new white jacket that’ll hug your tight and a white room that’s just
for you. Now, how’s that sound?”
“What
happened to Dr. Goldberg and the dildo?”
All of that changed during WWII when the brave men
of America crossed the Atlantic to beat German women. With no men around, the
American women started to build up something known as self-esteem while playing Baseball with Tom Hanks. You might be
saying to yourself, ‘Tom Hanks, the baby? Was Tom Hanks even alive during
WWII?’
If you actually asked such a stupid question, then I
feel sorry for you. Everyone knows that Tom Hanks is a Time Lord and went back
in his time machine. A League Of Their
Own was a documentary and Shelby Marshall redacted the time travel aspect
because women make bad decisions. See All
the women I’ve ever slept with. So, Tom Hanks helped foster the Feminist
movement instead of killing Hitler because Tom Hanks is selfish. Think of all
the horrible things that have ever
happened. Tom Hanks could have stopped them, but he played Baseball and drank
grain alcohol, instead.
Well, maybe it’s not fair to say he’s selfish. I
don’t understand the time-space continuum. Maybe things would be much worse if
Hitler didn’t rise to power. Maybe, there would have been nuclear dinosaurs,
instead. Just big-ass, Nazi dinosaurs with radioactive blood snatching fucking
planes out of the sky and eating the pilots’ faces. Here’s some homework: Find
a WWII veteran. You should probably hurry because they are dying, right the
fuck off. Find a Vet and ask him if a Nazi ever tried to bit his arm off.
Dinosaurs are worse than Nazis.
Let’s take the top war machine of WWII, the Panzer
Tank. Let’s pit that against the top predator of the Jurassic Period, the
Tyrannosaurus Rex. The Panzer has a lot going for it, but I have to maintain
the T-Rex would fuck the Panzer tank in its cannon hole. It’s a Motherfucking
T-Rex, Motherfuckers.
“No, because the Panzer has a big gun on the front.
You can just shoot the T-Rex in the face.”
Hey, Smart-Ass! Guess what? No, you can’t and shut
the fuck up. The Panzer has a fixed barrel. Unless you’ve got some guys to lift
the entire tank up at a 70 degree angle and hold it there long enough for you
to fire at the T-Rex, then the Panzer is going down. Now, do I know if that part
about the fixed barrel is true? Nope. And I’m not going to fact-check this.
It’s clearly bullshit. Listen, it doesn’t matter what type of gun the Panzer
had, it’s piloted by people and the only response to seeing a Tyrannosaurus Rex
is, ‘Holy fuck-nuts! A fucking T-Rex! Oh, god! It’s fucking us in our Cannon
hole!’
This is all deviating from my real point. Girls, I’m
not your boyfriend. I shouldn’t have to know about your goddamn feelings.
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