Wanna Go For a Ride?

(EDIT: I, being the REAL Old Iron, would like to say that my login was hijacked. Origionally I was a bit PISSED OFF to check the site and see that apparently I wrote something last night in a drunken stupor, but such is not the case. Mr. Diplomacy decided that he would let the fucking DOG hack my login. He must have gotten his miserable little paws on ”Hackers for Dummies with Paws” or something. Fucking Dog.) 

-You Nigerian-working-son-of-a-bitch!  I hate you.  No, really, I do hate you. As in ” You are a bastard of epic proportions, and your death would be trumpeted from the Heavens” -kinda hatred. Why, you ask? Every time you come home you get my master and everyone you get your alcohol soaked tenticles into fucked up. I see this first act as not being that much of an issue, I like a beer occasionally, but the problem is it contributes to the next issue.  Why is it the crunkedness always ends up as having, as it’s product, relentless abuse such as convincing my master that it is fun to ask me if I want to go for a ride-then throwing me through the glass front door. . . . . . repeatedly, as you laugh your collective drunken asses off and take pictures and video to commemorate the abusive and humiliating occassion at my expense!

(Hey, if it wasn’t for people like us Youtube would be a site dedicated to old videos of Culture Club -Ed)

I swear, if I didn’t care where my next meal was coming from I’d rip my master’s balls off and make him understand HALF the pain I have suffered at his hands due to your influence!   You are a BAD best friend to my master, and I hate your asshole ways!  

You die!

You die and go to hell!

-Mr. Diplomacy, can I have my meds now?  

Gus

UPDATE

 

(Now with DEVIL EYES for all of that point-provin that needs done!)

~ by Old Iron on March 28, 2008.