Sunday, March 1, 2009

Cut The Shit, Transmit A Fourth Alarm

Somebody forgot to transmit extra alarms last night. I'd like to shove my boot up his ass because I know it would fit. I'm angry like a chief without a take home car, like Madonna without a rod, like a fat woman missing a buffet.

The pork rind serving as the battalion chief just can't ask for help. We could be fighting a fire on the fucking moon and nitwit would stand there looking at the command board trying to orient himself.

What a turd.