Kids in the damn bar.
Okay, first let me say that I have never had a saintly tongue. Nor does anyone associated with this online tub of shiesse (just to be clear though Mackey and King Randal are far worse with their profanity) for that matter. It is said that profanity is the inevitable linguistic crutch of the inarticulate motherfucker. Then again, PJ O'Rourke counters with the assertion that profanity enlivens otherwise bland opinions.
We tend to congregate with the latter school of thought.
Having said all this, allow his Lordship the time to rail on his number one bar pisser-offer: Children in the damn bar. Look, we all know that responsible parents can toss back a few(many) and that they still can be good parents. For what it is worth, procreation is recognized as essential by the collective authors here. However, those of us lucky enough or unlucky enough not to have kids(depending on what fucking school you come from) will tell you that the barfly lifestyle is conducive and compatible most with not having the little shits around.
When I am knee deep in blood and whiskey, the last thing I am thinking about when I rant on for hours is the little bastard running around the foosball table after nine bells. Get his or her ass out of there if you don't want him or her hearing about: pussy, cock, bitch, whore, bastard, fuckface, fucker, fucking fucker, whore/prick of doom, asshole, prick of the year, and countless references to what is known to the hip kids on Al Gores internet as "butt secks"
Seriously, do you expect me to tone down my hatred/rage/joy/mirth by keeping a firing solution on your hellish drop all night? Get fucking real. Take them home before DCS gets a slurred phone call from the bar. One more thing, the little rat bastard needs some exercise.
Okay, first let me say that I have never had a saintly tongue. Nor does anyone associated with this online tub of shiesse (just to be clear though Mackey and King Randal are far worse with their profanity) for that matter. It is said that profanity is the inevitable linguistic crutch of the inarticulate motherfucker. Then again, PJ O'Rourke counters with the assertion that profanity enlivens otherwise bland opinions.
We tend to congregate with the latter school of thought.
Having said all this, allow his Lordship the time to rail on his number one bar pisser-offer: Children in the damn bar. Look, we all know that responsible parents can toss back a few(many) and that they still can be good parents. For what it is worth, procreation is recognized as essential by the collective authors here. However, those of us lucky enough or unlucky enough not to have kids(depending on what fucking school you come from) will tell you that the barfly lifestyle is conducive and compatible most with not having the little shits around.
When I am knee deep in blood and whiskey, the last thing I am thinking about when I rant on for hours is the little bastard running around the foosball table after nine bells. Get his or her ass out of there if you don't want him or her hearing about: pussy, cock, bitch, whore, bastard, fuckface, fucker, fucking fucker, whore/prick of doom, asshole, prick of the year, and countless references to what is known to the hip kids on Al Gores internet as "butt secks"
Seriously, do you expect me to tone down my hatred/rage/joy/mirth by keeping a firing solution on your hellish drop all night? Get fucking real. Take them home before DCS gets a slurred phone call from the bar. One more thing, the little rat bastard needs some exercise.
Fuck off! I am not any fucking worse than you, prick!
ReplyDeleteI rest my case. Fucker.
ReplyDeleteWhat bar was this? Most all parents know you can take the kids to Chucky Cheese and slip in your own brew via stroller or backpack!
ReplyDeletethis subject shall come up again. Get them the fuck out of my bar.
ReplyDelete