Or does it?
I’m thumbing through the digital news and nowhere near the headlines, tucked under a “New and Used Cars” advertisement way down the page, was a story that matter-of-factly reported that Ukraine is bracing for a nuclear attack.
Am I the only person on the planet that sees this as a prelude to the End of Times?
You have that crazy motherfucker Kim Jong-un shooting missiles off near the South Koreans. The race is on to see whether BabyHead Putin, the Charley Brown look-alike, or Jong-un will be the first to launch a nuclear attack in my lifetime.
My money’s on Trump.
Back when I was a painting contractor, my crews were painting up to five units per day. They were not always the cleanest places, but nothing like that mold-covered residence in Manchester, England where a young boy died. The places we worked (or should I say, the places my crews worked) were mainly dirty, some very filthy.
Killz for two or three coats, then primer, then paint.
But the British company responsible for upkeep “did not meet the threshold to bring criminal charges.”
How many children have to die? I can’t help but think that the responsible party would be in deep shit if they were in this country. Especially with this climate of revenge in which we operate.
Death is about as permanent and deleterious of a threshold as you can get don’t you think?
No matter how bad of a day you might be having, you could be Brittney Griner. Word is she has been transferred to a Russian penal colony. You know they are doing that to the poor girl just to fuck with America. And she’s paying for it. Every single movie I have ever seen about Russian penal colonies is not romantic in the least.
At least BG is big enough to kick the shit out of any crazy bitch that might try to snuggle up to her.
If she does make it all the way back to her life as a WNBA star, I pity the woman that tries to mess with her in the paint. Just let her have the rebound.
She’ll return meaner than hell and ready to kick serious ass.
At least I hope so.
Whatever douchebags are responsible for putting ads out telling people NOT to buy certain breeds of dogs are candidates to be eaten alive by a nest of alligators. Or stabbed one-hundred times, careful only to inflict pain and not deliver a fatal strike, avoiding any major arteries or vital organs.
But that’s just me.
An eleven-year old kid get bitten by a cobra, and his Dad doesn’t take him seriously?
The kid goes to sleep, awakens, stumbles outside to get sick, and dies cold, alone, and afraid, curled up next to a shed.
I bet his Dad takes him seriously now.
That didn’t make any sense.
Tiger will be playing a match on Dec. 10th with his friends and admirers and I feel younger just typing that.