What’s up everybody,
I have been pretty busy the last couple of days, and I did not realize that the photos in the blog about my cousin T and his outfit weighed down the page. Hopefully, that issue has been resolved now that I made the images smaller. I want to publicly thank everyone who wrote me to tell me that the page was acting crazy.
Now, on with the jokes…
Wait a minute…I have no jokes. I am feeling rather uninspired today. What is wrong with me? I feel like Superman with no powers. Like someone put a platinum chain with a Krytonite pendant around my neck. This is bad, folks. My future as the world’s foremost trash-talker is at risk!
If I don’t have my sense of humor to fall back on, what will I do? I’ll never be rich, since both my art and writing have elements of humor in them. I won’t be able to pick up ladies since my charm somewhat relies on my witty remarks. I also won’t be able to get out of tight situations by making those mad at me laugh. That one actually works in reverse too, because it will be harder for me to irritate folks if I can’t say well-timed, smartass remarks to anger them and hurt their punk-assed feelings.
This could lead to me turning to a life of crime. I might have to rob a liquor store tonight. Or a famous person. Yeah, that’s it. Someone rich and famous. I heard Baby from Cash Money Records just bought a $500,000 grill for his mouth. I’m going to hatch a scheme to rob him of his diamond-and-Lord-knows-what-else encrusted teeth.
It will be like The Thomas Crown Affair, only, more like the Overpriced Dental Crown Affair. I, the make-believe suave, debonaire jewel theif, will unleash a plan to steal Baby’s grill, sanitize it, then sell the precious metal and stones over the Black Market. Or on Ebay. Actually, the Black Market sounds cooler, and it will be harder for me to get tracked down that way.
I don’t want to actually kill Baby, so I think I’ll infiltrate his house and drug him instead. Then wait until he sleeps and take the jewelry right out of his snarling, half-assed rapping mouth. He’ll wake up grill-less the next morning to the site of his God-give teeth, and see the note I leave next to him that reads “PRRRRRRRRRRRR!!! What happened to that boy?”
Hey! I just realized something! during this lamentation on losing my creativity and sense of humor, I seem to have found them both again! I am what you call a B.M.F.
If you don’t know what that stands for, just look at my wallet!
Ain’t no money in it, but I’m saying…Tweet