Vote BubbRubb/Lil Sis '08

what? you think i'm fucking kidding? why not turn 2008 into Cali's recall election? i mean, Bush and Co. have fucked up pretty big, but have we really done our (electoral) worst?

i don't think soooooooo. send in the clowns!

since the upcoming presidential election is already proving to be quite unique (read: ridiculous), why not shove that fist all the way up our collective asses? get it in there nice and deep baby. lose your watch in that shit! we wanna feel your elbow bone and shit.

can you imagine what BubbRubb's first "100 days" would be like? he'd make FDR look like a fucken bow-legged, stuttering kid with Down's Syndrome, a cleft pallet, and a tiny dick! so small. soooo smallll. almost microscopic.

yeah, yeah, i know he really had polio. i'm being sensitive. he was great. yeahyeahyeah. fuck off mom/dad.

back to the matter of the day.

President Rubb's first order of business would surely be installing those bama-ass whistles (shown in the video above) in the tailpipes of all federal vehicles. that gangsta shit!

"it's like an alarm clock!"

exactly!

and promptness and expediency are the keys to success in Washington. or at least in BubbRubb's Washington they will be. because when President Rubb says he needs a new crack stem to replace the one he broke while celebrating hitting 4-5-6 in cee-lo, he means he needs a new crack stem YESTERDAY motherfucker! the dice (and the jones) wait for no man, and shit!

i can just see it now. like Puffy sending that motherfucker to get cheesecake. only this time it's the President of the United States (aka Supreme Optimus Prime H.N.I.C. out this bitch) sending him to Southeast, South Southeast D.C. to cop from my boy Pookie.

he does not have it for cheap, so bring some cash asshole. and get me some while you're down there. can you spot me yo? i know, i know. i'll get you back for this and last week on thursday ok? ok? yo? ok? thanks yo. good look.

the second order of business would of course be to outlaw any and all criticism of the aforementioned bama-ass tailpipe whistles. a crime punishable by death. that's right son, BubbRubb don't play! everybody knows that Totalitarian political systems with Draconian punishment structures are like the most gangsterest shit ever!

you may think i'm fucking around, but this shit is real my friend. from the heart. let's keep it real because i'm keeping it real.

the other day, i told an acquaintance that i'd prefer that Obama didn't win the nomination. she looked at me like i was wearing a white hood and holding a noose in one hand and burning a black baby with a blowtorch with the other.

but i'm used to this kind of idiocy, so.

my rationale, of course, is that given the mess made by the Bushmen, whomever is unlucky enough to take the Oval Office on 1.20.09 is shit outta luck.

they will spend their entire term righting the ship, scraping away the refuse, jettisoning the rotting corpses and stillborn foetuses like so much dead weight.

i'd just prefer that our nation's first Black president wasn't mired in such dirty workbusinessstuff.

it doesn't take a visionary to see that should a Black President's administration suffer from relative 'immobilisme' on account of playing itself out of a hole someone else dug, it would be construed as a failure indicative of that leader's capabilities, as defined by his race. thus, for the remainder of this nation's existence, the White House would remain just that. White.

don't play fucking dumb. you know that's how it works.

so yeah. vote BubbRubb/Lil Sis in 2008. if you love America, that is. you do love America, don't you?

meth mouth is no laughing matter.

i was just discussing with timemachine how i can't wait until the meth epidemic hits the northeastern u.s. partly out of spite (payback for the devastation of the black psyche brought by the crack explosion of the 80s and 90s) and partly because i want in.

so how fitting it is that i should stumble upon a nameless gentleman at the bus depot on my way back in from new york last weekend (yes, that same weekend spent raging out with timemachine, ruminating over the impending wave of pestilence) who indeed lived the quintessential street thunder lifetime.

now a trucker, our hero grew up in green bay, lived in a commune in oregon getting high and fucking loose hippie twat as a teen, only to move to hawaii at the behest of his drug addict girlfriend. living there, tending bar, trying to keep his lady under control, his typical morning consisted of surfing at dawn and putting a dent in the $10 grocery bag of weed given to him by the north shore locals. real kamaaina shit. respekt.

after an incident involving his girlfriend dosing him with acid while at work (and the nightmarish trip that ensued), the relationship started to unravel, and following her death a short time later, he moved back to the mainland.

back to the midwest. the heartbeat of amurrica.

michigan specifically. now this would be the part of the story that gets my underthings all wet, what with the perpetuation of the street thunder fantasy and all.

so our nameless trucker moved back to michigan and got in with a tough crowd. the pagans to be precise. and everyone knows that nothing, i mean absolutely nothing, can stop a motorcycle gang. the cops? in the words of an unknown klansmen: "but who will protect the cops?"

imagine, if you will, my doe-eyed wunderment at the sounds of these stories of prospecting and motorcycle-bound drive-bys and methamphetamine manufacture and prostituting runaways. fucken wax ecstatic!

but alas, the lure of stability over chaos and the fear of getting murked led him away from the street scene and back into the arms of the american dream. a tax-paying, child-raising, wedding band-wearing benefit II society.

but from what i'm reading timemachine (and anyone else who's in for a bit of the old hyperviolence), these pagans could be our gateway into fulfilling the prophecy.

"The Pagans make and distribute most of the methamphetamine and PCP in the northeastern U.S. - about $15 million-worth a year. They have their own chemists and laboratories, which supply dealers in Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Maryland, and Ohio. They also deal in cocaine, marijuana and killerweed (Parsley sprinkled with PCP)."

hey wait a minute?! new jersey, new york, maryland, motorcycles, narcotics, parsley? that's us, innit?

what the fuck are we waitin for?!