So. It’s F-Day, and I’m very excited to get it going. Don’t get ahead of yourself, or mine for that matter, and think I meant that today is Friday when I said, “It’s F-day.” True, it is Friday, but several additional f-words are on today’s agenda, the f-words which make it F-day. That make it F-day?
First, and see there- another f-word for the day, we’re going fishing. The whole lumpy bunch of us. I agreed to take Rush Limbaugh and Rick Perry with the dogs and cat on our fishing trip. I agreed to do so because our garden lays fallow at this time, and using the literal definition for the word fallow. The garden bounty is fully harvested and the soil has been composted and very-slightly turned. Not a full plowing because that’s not a modern method. Just a light skim with a thick-tined rake.
Why the fallow garden part is needed at this time is because of Rush Limbaugh. My pig goes all wild boar on me every time I take him to dig worms for fishing. The smell of rich earth, as I turn shovel fulls to expose the fishing worms, sparks some primordial need for him to root. Silly fucker can root up a hundred-foot row of okra plants in the time it takes to corral him.
Maybe I meant “primeval”[.] Maybe.
When I said I plan to take my “lumpy” bunch on the fishing trip, I mean just that. Remember when I told you about having a wooden deer statue removed from Rick Perry’s ass and then took my gay ostrich sex toy shopping? Well, things got heated up in the closet day-before-yesterday, and Ricky got excited and was swinging his head around like a mace. He and Rush both in the heat of passion and the big bird banged giant bumps and knots on the pig’s head and back.
Silly pig looks like he’s got the body mumps.
Then, I’ve decided to have fried food today. Deep-fried food, and two more f-words to collect for the day. I have started limiting myself on fried food. But BJ over to the Dumb Perignon is taking me for a fried chicken dinner when I go up to visit Tennessee in November, and that sparked a primordial need in me for fried fowl. See how I just manipulated the English language for another f-word?
And f is also for fucking. Fucking with Rick Perry, fucking up, and just plain fucking. I’m headed down to Congress Avenue later today with a box of my “Fuck Rick Perry” bumper stickers. I’mma stand on the sidewalk in front of his national headquarters and give them away. I already made the call to my attorney, Jeff, and put him on standby. I’ll need him to get me out of jail in time to fulfill my final f-word of the day. SAC Ellen called to say she’s popping by Austin on a 10 pm flight before she heads to the west coast.
At least I hope sexing my sweetie pie is the last of my f-words of the day. Hopefully all of my fucking-up is out of my system before ten tonight.
So let’s drink a big swig from our frosty Carta Blanca beer to F-day. F it, y’all.