Let me preface my first words by stating that I'm more akin to a motherfucker than a bastard.
Now then, the Bastard (a.k.a. King Kong Bastard--Bastard!) and I are brothers. History reveals that he has smacked me in the nose with an aluminum baseball bat (which I believe the folks still have at the QV Mo Headquarters), dropped me on my face (I have the 27 year-old scar to prove it)and generally tortured me with his presence over the 20 some odd years we share a room with one another. That being said I hold no ill will, after all, as much as he was a bastard, I was a motherfucker to live with.
I currently live in Florida, land of the q-tips, voter fraud (yes I said it), the gun-toting-brain-dead-lazy-ass-crackers, and voter fraud (damn right I said it again). I swear there is a sign upon entering that reads, "leave your integrity and work ethic up north."
I liken the "Sunshine State" to purgatory, no one knows how they ended up here and no one has any idea when they are leaving. Florida is also the home of the hurricane, which leads me to my point. As I made my way back to my dwelling I passed the Mobil. I noticed it was packed to the gills with cars waiting to fill their tanks with gas. It reminded me of last hurricane season when the same station went days without gas after the multiple hurricanes that passed throughout the state. In that aftermath, many Floridians complained that there was no fuel, and if there was they had to wait on a line much like one you would see at a D.M.V. It got me thinking. If a hurricane, much like Dennis, packing 140 mile-per-hour winds is barrelling its way to your town, why would you waste your Friday evening waiting in line at a Mobil with a terrible service staff, (almost as bad as the staff at the "unfriendly Mobil" on Old Country Rd. in Carle Place, NY), when you could be grabbing some beer and chilling out for the next 48 hours. I mean, where the hell are you going during a category 4 hurricane that you need gas. Taking a road trip?-I don't think so fucker. You're sittng at home obsessing over whether or not you fully stocked up you hurricane kit and waiting out a storm that probably won't make landfall until the poor smucks in Alabama are waiting in line at their Mobil. Fucking leroys.
If you are wondering what I mean by "Leroy", I'll put it simply. There are two types of people in this world; "the Leroys" and "the Swamis." The Leroys do it with a dance, "the Swamis" do it with a look. I'll get into a further explanation at another time, right now you'll have to excuse me-I have to go build an ark.