Killer Clowns

Killer Clown
Who invited this guy?

blind parkour leaping from skyscraper to skyscraper  and family gatherings where Buzzkill can not only get the joke, she can tell her own. Also, the entire family thinks you are headed for a homeless shelter – no, you can’t just go live in Mom’s basement.

What happens in your warped mental kingdom when your late dinner is a new chicken recipe complemented with fruit infused Shock Top.

Scraping

The thing about the über diet is that what it lacks in calories, taste or substance, it makes up for in lowered Coors Light tolerance. That explains the fact of responding to 2007’s “back in the saddle” girl’s stupid text.

I have no explanation for failing to call her to order a nostalgic booty call, which beer-goggled its way onto my late night social radar. I’m just glad it stayed a nightmare theory. I would hate to have to chew off my other arm this morning.

Epilogue-ish

After months of delay and unequivocal efforts to make things smaller and cut out the larger fish from the discussion, the “final statement” and “conclusion” has been delivered in the form of a conference call.

The basic message from National: There was no misconduct, get it through your thick fucking skull.

Also: It’s in the past! It doesn’t matter!

Also: You fucked up! You trusted us!

Fuck you, National. No wonder you are despised. You did fuck up. You did take liberties with the facts presented by the subsidiary, and it did a shitty self-serving job using the powers entrusted to it.  You screwed us over.

This was not about civil liability. It was about fraternal honor. You lack the courage to even say “sorry” or “we should have done better.” No accountability. No contrition. No character.

The ad hominems on those who dare point out the shortcomings? No brotherhood.

I will honor my oaths, and maintain my brotherhood with my chapter, but I am done with you fuckstains. National is dead to me.