You were better at selling coke than you are at . . . whatever this is, Tim.

You fucking hope incorrectly.

Not at all like law!

Did I mention the person who first taught me how to start a chainsaw is now the mother of my children?

Well, you do you. Me, I've sort of migrated to another extreme where I fantasize about women stripping out of like filthy mechanic's overalls or such after a long day of reconditioning an engine. Like, "Ooh, honey you're all greasy and sweaty. Why don't you go take a shower? In fact, how about I get in with you. Make…

At the tender age of 17, I invented eleven new swear words in less than 10 seconds.

the shit in a Lava Lamp

If you really pay attention, they're all around you . . .

Confederate centaurs were key to their early success in the war. However, the bearded dwarf generals Grant and Sherman soon turned the tide.

No, that's vaginas. Try again.

Yep. We in Buffalo prefer "pee outdoors in winter—or, if we're being honest, large parts of autumn and spring—to see if it'll freeze."

Eh. Silhouettes of men running always put me in mind of Insane Clown Posse. Even sans hatchet.

*the like 15 federal agencies in and around Silver Spring carefully take down his information*

Oh I've been to the Ass Plantation; it's just outside of Reno, Nevada. As themed brothels go, it's pretty awful.

1.) Neo-confederates have supposedly got such a hard-on for these things
2.) Baltimore could use the money, so…
3.) They should ransom them to cities/neo-confederates further south!

For all those states where removing the monuments is now illegal, how about just swapping the heads of the men and their horses? Think of the joy it'll bring archaeologists a few thousand years from now . . .

Eh, how the heck would I know? I'm one of those philistines who never understood 'sexy underwear'. 'Cause really, isn't the sexiest underwear in the world axiomatically less-sexy than no underwear at all?

I was thinking we could save the heads as some sort of spitoons. Or else like targets for carnival games. Gay carnival games. Like guys jack off competitively and see who can land a spooge-gob on the face of their assigned Confederate general at the greatest distance.

"If only there were thousands of books or an extremely lengthy Ken Burns documentary that could tell us but NAY there tis' not a single one!"

YOU DO NOT IRON WOOL *OR* ACRYLIC YARNS! GOOD NIGHT!!