Talk Real Slow

Some people are so damn dumb you have to repeat yourself when you tell em stuff and they still get it wrong.

I remember one time I had to repeat myself so many times once it pissed off the bartender and the bouncer so much those guys tossed me out in the street just because they couldn't understand what the hell I was saying.

Or maybe they did.

Hell I dunno I can't remember much about that evening or morning or whatever the heck it was.

Usually you don't see people talking about having to repeat themselves when some total dumbass either can't or won't understand the most basic crap. But sometimes, just every once in a glorious while you get to see some total fool get dressed down by one of the people they can't seem to understand.

It can be an embarrassing moment to hear such a thing like when it's you and somebody explains that you just can't understand much at all. Even more embarrassing than when you wet your pants or find out your bad ass guard dogs were humping their brains out when the garden got snatched.

Damnit Lucifer!

Other times it can be more enjoyable and it can sound like those bell deals or harps or whatever that sweet golden sound of angels and stuff sounds like.

It can be like when all the fruits line up on the slot machine deal and you get steak for dinner. That kinda enjoyable, good like steak.

With A-1 sauce even. 

That was what it was like when that buffalo dude told off francis recently. Seems francis has real bad comprehension issues and only wants to hear what he wants to hear or just doesn't know what the hell is going on because he's stoned or something.

Check the video - even the Waffler says he understood what the buffalo dude said even though francis just doesn't get it. Some folks, like francis, may not want to watch this one since like I said sometimes it's funner when it's somebody else.

Thing is, francis has been going around whining about stupid shit he says everybody else is doing because he probably thinks nobody notices the stupid shit he's doing. Lately he's been griping that the buffalo dude has a schedule conflict or something and can't make rules that affect francis' friends the pot growers.

By strange coincidence those pot head types have a real difficult comprehension problem too so for whatever reason they all sound just like francis. I'm not sure why that is but its like they share a maggot infested brain or whatever.

Load up the Batmobile.

You don't want a maggot brain like those guys.

Anyway so francis kept nagging the buffalo dude so much that finally the buffalo dude had to explain to everybody what francis' brain problem is.

Basically, francis is a retard so you have to repeat yourself a bunch and talk real slow. Real, real, real slow. But even that doesn't work sometimes so you just give up trying to explain stuff to them and just sit back while they do some stupid shit like those pencil dicks that pretend they are batman and wear their underwear outside their pants or whatever.

I thought only girls kicked francis in the nutsack but it looks like its open season on francis for co-ed nutsack hackysack and the buffalo guy drew the long straw.

Some people have all the luck.

Tom's Big Pole

Remember those guys who always had to compensate for some shortcoming so they got big fast cars, revved the engines up real loud and screeched around like mutated flying monkeys on speed? Yah those guys.

Turns out some of em were using steroids and it shriveled their nuts so bad their tighty whities fit kinda loose.

Other guys were just naturally handicapped so it wasn't their fault they had something to prove.

Our own federally convicted drug criminal Tom Cartel is like the second type, it isn't his fault and he wants everyone to know it but he doesn't really want to drive around in a hot rod since that would be so 80's.

Cartel was clearing some land for his garden far away from the noise and bustle of the task force helicopters and discovered he'd made kind of a mess. He didn't want to just leave all the stuff there, some folks might call it evidence, and as he stood there looking at the virgin growth redwood trees he'd just slaughtered and puffing on a reefer he had an idea.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Creative uses for dead trees.

Tom decided he'd find somebody dumber than him and convince them some of those slaughtered redwood trees might make good symbols of peace. What could possibly better symbolize peace than redwood trees brutally murdered in the pursuit of material gain through growing illegal drugs to sell to children, he'd just leave that part out and tell folks he 'found em.'

Kinda like when I was a kid and found my dad's metal grinder and used it to liberate a bike I 'found' that some control freak had chained up to the library fence. I found it, it was mine.

Tom figured once he found some other rebel without a clue he'd plunge those trees into the ground so everybody could see what a big pole he has.

Around the same time, idiot-point-one was trying to figure out how to raise some money without actually having to do another fund raiser so they gathered their collective heads, nearly got a rock pile together and chose one of the most violent, divisive times the county had ever known and call it the summer of peace so they could go around asking everybody for money.

So they got Tiara San Jawn to be the patsy and go around asking for money so she could declare this summer the summer of peace. But Tiara wasn't content to simply call it the summer of peace and hold hands around a campfire singing like most folks do because that wouldn't mean any money for idiot-point-one.

She huffed and she puffed and went around to all the local offical type folks and asked them for some cash so she could throw one big shindig and call it the summer of peace.

Much to her surprise, they all said no.

Tiara had to figure out some way to pull off her plan since it didn't look like she was going to get to take tax dollars that pay for stuff like parks and such for her peace thing.

Enter Tom Cartel. Who better to celebrate something as nonsensical as the summer of peace when the county is at war than one of the main thugs?

And Tom likes the idea since it means he can stuff his pole into a crack and show everyone how big it is.

Then after summer time the cops can show up and rip out Tom's and everybody elses plants so they don't have to mess up all those peace pipes they buy this summer.

Nothing says peace like killing redwood trees and guarding pot plants with rifles and pitbulls.

Sum quoque Donec enim negotium

Some people never learn. Like me, I sometimes do the same doggone thing over and over again and never learn how to quit wasting my time with it. Like Dishes for instance. If I could really learn I'd probably get some paper plates or some of those cool biodegradable eatin' deals I could just toss in the back yard like my neighbors do.

Actio ante protocollo

Unlike yours truly, francis seems to have gained an appetite for education though.

At least I learned to quit going to school after I was old enough to buy beer and hit the strip bars when I was around fifteen.

Word is francis is over studying to be a liar since he's just isn't so good at it without some formal law school education stuff.

So francis packed up his favorite Sponge Bob lunch box with some nifty snacks and scooted along to class. He can get lots of snacks since his GOB job pays a boatload more than mine does and he doesn't even have to go to work to collect it.

I show up an hour or two late four or five times in a week and my boss starts to behave like I don't deserve my job or something.

Kinda feel bad for the guy having to drive all the way down to Santa Rosa four times a week but I guess the county probably pays for the gas so that's good.

I suppose.

Thing is francis has so much use for legal opinions he's decided to learn what those really are. Besides, he gets to hang out with some smart folks they probably have all kinds of interesting conversations that he'd really like to understand. Maybe some smarts will rub off on him after a while.

Time will tell.

Opus calidum legalis consilio, infantem?

On the other hand that place is probably chock full of hot lawyer gals he can brush up against and cop a feel.

That's probably it.

At least that's about the only reason I'd go to law school anyway. The rest of that lawyer crap is dull as hell and they make you remember so much stupid shit. And who cares about latin besides that goofy dork from that movie anyway?

The only latin I know is Vicecomes superfluum carnis and I don't have a clue what that means. Sure glad I'm not a lawyer since the only place latin comes in handy is in a courtroom and south of the border.


Could be he's got wind that he's gonna be spending some time in a courtroom and just wants to know the language so he doesn't make an ass of himself like usual.

That would be a welcome relief for sure.

Twas the night

 A rock hurled into the cave had this note attached. So we thought oh what the hell, let's share it.

Twas the night before the election and all through the Lovelosers house, not a creature was stirring not even Phil’s arse. All the sample ballots were hung by the door jam with care, with hopes that Francis would soon shoot one there.

Bruce, Tom and Brian were nestled all snug in their one bed, with visions of a Moss victory dancing in their heads, and when outside of the double-wide there arose such a clatter, Bruce sprang from his bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window he flew in a flash, pulled down the soiled sheet and threw up his hands.

The moon on the primer gray Chevy gave off such a shine, when what to his bloodshot eyes should appear, but 'ol possum head’s rattling pickup holding eight dead deer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick, Bruce knew in a moment it wasn’t another Lovelace dick, more rapid than Tom chasing a cheeseburger and fries, possum head leaped out, and he whistled and shouted and called out their names.

Now Dwain, now Ron, now Frank and Becky and on Olga and on Phil, and on with you Blackmoore. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of many police hooves.

As I drew in my head and was turning around, down through the roof came a buffalo rancher. He was dressed in all leather, from his head to his foot and his clothes were all tarnished with Loveloser's hashish soot.

A bundle of warrants he held in his hands. His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry, his cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. His gunmetal .45 ready to shoot and his humor as dry as 'ol possum head's solitary tooth.

He had a broad face and a little round belly that shook when he laughed, like Joan’s KY jelly. He was chubby and plum, a right old jolly dude, and Bruce laughed when he saw him knowing he was dead. With a wink of his eye and a twist of his cuffs, the rancher moved quickly and arrested them all.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to work, and torched their double-wide and Joan’s only tooth. Laying his finger aside of his nose, he sprang up through the roof and flew them away in his gas-powered sled.

I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, Lovelosers are busted, and to all a good night.