Of Dumbasses, and Friendly Boot-shaped Neighbors
I am prone to prejudice, I'll admit. Hell, even preconceived notions, assumptions...I can go days at a stretch without actually dusting off the ole' brain and inserting the dozens of punchcards necessary to prod the belching machine into shitting out an original opinion. The difference between myself and the people I'm about to swarthily lampoon (oh my, yes) is this: I realize that I'm on autopilot a lot of the time, and am fully aware when my conception of something is totally baseless and unfounded--whether of a cultural stigma, a political belief, or Tim's capacity for abstract thought.
The belligerently ignorant people "what done torn my best sunday britches," to briefly revisit my hayseed heritage* (see footnote), are guilty of the crime I am too perfect to commit. They, blithely unaware of the idiot-smog issuing from their mouth parts, go around yelling what amounts to "I don't know much, hyuck, but I can sure right well assume things, hyuck. Hay, wanna listen to (hyuck) some stuff I made up about the world around me, narf?"
Today's unfortunate victim was Italy. The shitgeysers that came up with these worldly insights into our mustachioed neighbors to the very west (or east, really) probably aren't up to writing things with Language, so I'll take the liberty of writing the travelogue they never will.
~My agventure in Iduhlee!!
by The People I Deal With Every Goddamn Day
[entries are not dated, because our dear slackjaw never figured out the buttons on his free power rangers digital watch with super megazord powerup noises]
Day 1: i arrived today in italy because my mom said i should go to italy to see a little of the world and i like meatballs so i said ok. the plane was scary. i don't see any meatballs but there are some guys in suits i wonder if theyr in the mafia oh right its italy duh.
Day 2: All the roads in the city where they took me to are made of water. i asked the man how do you drive on the roads and they said we use botes hahaha and i said enough chickenshit giacomo make with the meatballs or i'ma go all Puzo upside you organ grinding head capische how you like me now and then they got really quiet and one of them whistled.
Day 3: I saw a man in a red shirt and some overalls and i think he said his name was marie and he jumped really high with a funny boing noise and he hit his head on a block in the air and a coin went out of the block and he yelled when he hit his head and then he fell down and there was a lot of blood on his head and he didn't move.
Day 4: Still no meatballs. i think I'm actually in Atlantis or something with all the water in the street if this is really italy what gives come on.
Day 5: today i went to oh my god its coming through the wall ow
Unfortunately, the entries end here. It seems the author of this memoir (pending publication and subsequent movie adaptation) died tragically on the fifth day of his sojourn, in an incident involving God, his Merciful Hand and a Stray Vespa. Fortunately, most modern Effeminate European Scooters (EES's) come equipped with divine retribution recorders protected in a reinforced black box, designed for just such cases of intrinsic universal justice. More on this as it develops.
-Moss
*Seriously. Podunk, Ketunky. Some six people on my dad's side live out there, who fill out at least twice that many places in the family tree. They are all named either Cletus or Thelma, with no regard to gender.**
**Yeah, Tim. I'm doing the footnote thing now, too.
