MAYDAY! MAYDAY! B-Rock Rolls Rahm! Chicago on Fire(fly)! Brett Texts His Toes to Lady G! The TwitterSphere Gags on Gaga's ReTweet! Billy the Kid Pardons BrettMan & Donates a ManiPedi to His Rolf-IRA! Siberia Sucks on Pedialyte Popsicles! Bernie M's TwinkleToes U-Tube Vid Makes Jets 2010 HiLite Reel! Coach Rex Bashes Bernie's Ugly Pinkies! HiLite Reel Goes Viral & Bernie Mombos Barefoot in the Slammer! C Rex Vows to Blitz Bernie with Pulverizing Pedicure!
Wohhhh! Let's bring it down & discuss things in a responsible FFA back to the basics Aggie boot up your bunsies funhouse way. Cause yours truly has sacrificed to the max income-well Siberian-denominated Yak cash flow-for the pungent aroma of fresh cow paddies and Hampshire pelotas (Guvner Rick calls em pig balls, which I find offensive but right on target in a strangely accurate Agnoid way).
That's right-I have assumed a titularly unassuming but power packed (according to my new benefactor and revenue soul mate RP-he prefers TB-The Boss-but I told him we were too mutually intertwined to use gross med terminology to define our budget-friendly tye-dyed relationship) position at the Compound.
Instead of writing demeaning and personally degrading letters to InCos (insurance monopolies in RP's Book of TP Terminology) asking Mother-May-I authority to rx Allegre for snotty noses unresponsive to weakass-and unfunded in B-Rocks World of Pharmacology Benefits-OTC junk (& this is not an attempt to take a subtle poke at Brett's tiny textoid indiscretions) like Loratidine, I get to be the 1st MD-Pedi-TP Survivalist Instructor with a SummaCumLoudy degree in masking human body stuff (ie, BO, Bucko) with deer tinkle. And by the way, I was moved beyond words to accept my new title, mainly because that meant not receiving the inevitable yes-you-have-satisfied-every-prerequirement, including allergies to natural outdoor toxins like lead-laced ozone, but still do not qualify for Allegre cause "you do not know the secret precert handshake" letters.
RP wants to "take it to the next level"-which would be a Code 11 in the TP (TeaParty) Rules of Engagement. That means essentially taking B-Rocks dream plan to cover all the little Tejas children and "tweaking 'er just a little bit." With a special grant from BassBro, Outfitters for the WholeDawgFamily "from BubbaJoe to BJ Jr," RP has managed to guarantee that every Texas baby born and total body scanned by an authorized TSA screener who passes a Texanglish test by the age of 5 years (sample?: what do you call one of those big ole machines your daddy drives around in while the help plants this years sorghum?) gets a brand new Daisy Duke Air Rifle with your choice of ammo-BBs or Pellets.
What a deal for the Future Leaders/Marksmen of our Great State! In fact, that is the only question. If you answer correctly without cheatin', you pass with flying LoneStar colors. If you fail-and if you don't know the answer, you simply aint cut out to be a LoneStar Buddy or Buddette-then it is off to NuevoLaredo and points beyond for you and all your familia. (And, by the way, the answer to this gem that every true Texan can answer in a heartbeat-a Ford 150 pickup with special mudguards and a DaisyDuke RifleRack!)
The beauty of this simple PassFail exam is it weeds out all those wooses that simply do not have the hearty TP genes to survive without Medicaid (InCo for sissies as RP and Tom-last name withheld for medicogeopolitical reasons-and Rahm so soberly noted) in the post-secession Republic of Texas! The Republic of Texas-as Rahmbo likes to call it. Man, that Rahmbo has political instincts that are cat-quick and savvy-smooth. That whole Chicago mayor deal was a big smoke screen. The Second Great Fire of Chicago as he labeled it with a tiny little smirk leaking out of his very serious and sober press release.
TP, RP, & Rahmbo (with his duly-sworn to secrecy entourage that again for Waco-type reasons must remain anonymous to the corps)-what a combustible combo for rewriting the history of our new baby nation wrapped in nonbiodegradable bigass Pampers! Now, I just need to figure out how to barter fresh turkey gizzards and venison (assuming of course that I can shoot straight enough to keep my game locker overflowing) for cash flow to pay my through the roof FHA AIG-backed mortgage. I am still in shock as Rahmbo has commandeered every last drop of my Amoxicillin pink stuff stash to use as wild boar bait.
Stay tuned-and send any used cammo, recently laundered outfits-and spare in or out of date PinkStuff-to my new address: Compound Survival @ TP City, TROT.