Hello, this is your friend and neighborhood Republican Fuckjob McShithead. I hope everyone out there is enjoying their catered bar-b-que lake picnics and box seats at the stadium this weekend, because I know I will.
This morning, my wife and I discussed having missionary sex but decided against it, so I retreated to our lake house kitchen where our servant LaKisha prepared us eggs benedict and biscuits made from scratch. I had a bite and scolded LaKisha for putting too much cream in the hollandaise sauce. I fed the rest to our dog Buchanan. I opened the Sunday paper but quickly tossed said paper when I saw that the only news was about those worthless Negroes that can't seem to find a job down in New Orleans. I mean, how long am I going to have to listen to their complaining? This is simply God punishing them for being such hedonistic slouches. They should just bulldoze the town and throw the bodies in the Gulf. I mean really! Just thinking about it makes me angry, so I bit off the end of my Cuban cigar but couldn't find a light. I pulled out the smallest bill in my wallet and lit it on the stove with LaKisha's help of course. I don't know how these blasted things work. As I moved the $20 to the end of my cigar I began to feel relaxed again. My robe, my cigar, and my porch that's all I need. Ahhhhhhh.
Labor day is tomorrow and I simply don't see all the fuss. It's just another day to me. I haven't had a job since daddy paid me $200 to mow the patch of grass in our front yard. I would always say, "But daddy, why doesn't Pedro do it?", to which he would reply, "You have to learn some responsibility somehow, son." Words I will never forget. I made my three passes with the riding mower and then I was a rich man. Nothing like a hard days work. That's what these... Negroes don't understand, a hard days work. Labor Day is just another excuse for them not to work. To hell with Labor Day and to hell with casual Fridays and to hell with bonuses and the eight hour rule. Work, that's what makes you a man, work!
LaKisha asked for the day off to see her two kids and husband back in her home town, but I told her that if she left me and Mrs. McShithead's side I'd be forced to replace her. She cried a bit but got over it quick. The workers at my Bible factory wanted off as well, but I reminded them that Jesus' work is never done and that I would default on all their pensions if they didn't show up. They got the picture. They realize that I'm teaching them a lesson. I'm teaching them the importance of work and that maybe one day they will be as rich as me. Muahahahahaha. 'Rich as me', I kill myself sometimes.
Tomorrow I'll be dining with governor Perry and discussing some Railroad commission documents that will have to be shredded in order for me to cash in on this $63 a barrel oil. Ricky understands money, which is a quality I found that all politicians have. After that I may go for a round of two of golf and a cocktail at the club. It's good to be me, Fuckjob McShithead.
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