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Fighting Terrorists before/after Sadly, not only does my ID rule the roost most of the time, the ID is also frequently called upon as the voice of reason and motivation. As a result, someday the Man will show up for me with a big net and 220v cattle prods. It will be an ugly scene, likely to take place in the most unlikely of places. The Man will show up in the form of a net, cattle prods, stun-guns and tazers all manned by a crew of midget clowns that will reside in the suit of one giant main clown who will drive a white-polka dot VW bug-the old style-, that will conveniently drop out of the back of a stark white, windowless 'chester the molestor' van near my location and will quickly move into my parameter. Much merchandise will be damaged. Midget clowns will bite my ankles. I will never be heard from again. There will be rumours, to be sure, but the reality of it will have my cock and balls frozen into a big block of ice, while I'm forced to stand there and watch re-runs of 'Facts of Life' over and over and over again deep underground somewhere in Nevada. That Joe, she sure has some tough, sexy moxy for a boarding school girl. All I wanted to do was stop some terrorists. That's why I got the pea gravel, and that's why I've been huffing Scott's Turf Builder. Need to keep the senses sharp. Nothing like pea gravel to ward off those noisy terrorists. I heard one step into the "warning strip" I laid down yesterday, and I went out and fended him off with a garden hose that I put a nail through the end of in shop class in high school. He said he wanted to read the meter, but how the hell should I know? He had on a uniform, and didn't ask to go in the back. Never fuck with a patriot who's senses are preternaturally sharp from huffing Scott's Turf Builder all week. What, you don't huff? I usually get a towel, and wet it down. Not too wet, just damp. Then I open the bag, drape the towel over my head, and just huff it. Its either that or a nice latex based paint. Love me while I'm still free.
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