poop

poop

everywhere

But before I explain, I need to tell the back story. Twenty years ago, I told my law partner to f&çk off, got on my bike & heading south with no plan going forward.

I have my standards, you know. I have MORALS, by God! I wasn't going to let some 2-bit lawyer in a shiney suit ruin my good reputation! So I became a used car salesman.

I'll never forget the first car I sold. It was a bright red 2003 VW Beetle that made all sorts of funny noises. I sold it to a young man who said he planned to use it to

Pick up chicks while riding a motorcycle in the back seat

the chicks protested a little but then stopped when they were shoved inside his backpack. "What's going on back there?" the biker asked bewildered still driving touwards the

internal punctuation. Ah, the comma, refuge of those out of breath and too clueless to stop at a natural pause. So, where were we? Ah, the chicks. Their muffled ministrations drew

the children and their unsanitary hands toward them. The chicks scrambled away but the cuteness lured the children. The chicks died with disease.