Friday, December 26, 2008

Money can't buy you happiness. But it can buy you assassins

I pondered this thought today as I stood in line at the local burger joint *points to headline*

Post-party, post-alcohol, I must have food. It is a universal truth. I must have meat. Preferably between two pieces of bread with salad and various condiments.

So after Primator (beer) and friends and The Cock and Newcastle (beer) and laughs and chocolate and Staropramen (beer), I craved food. Off to the burger joint we went.

Christmas Day is the party day (emphasis on "the") in small towns like this, the armpit of Sweden, and there is only one burger joint stupid enough to be open on a night like this. The new burger joint. The one next to the McDonalds, that actually is a serious contender. It was a fuckin' freak show.

Was I ever that annoying when I was 20 and drunk? Did I ever stand in line, screaming at the top of my lungs, that my friend is a cunt and that I need food? Did I ever lick the backpack of the guy standing in front of me (tonight, that would be me)? I don't think so. Why? Because as my girl put it, I have a higher IQ than my age. Which these complete morons do not have.

There should be a license required to have children (and I'm actually serious here, and not that drunk). With something like that in place, I wouldn't have to consider professional hitmen to clean out the gene pool.

Sometimes I understand people that climb to the top of water towers with high powered rifles, I really do.

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