Broke ass zipper
yesterday i came up with a great way to decided upon the
person whom i'd like to have my country for the next 4
years. you see i have a winter jacket, this winter jacket
has one huge problem, the zipper only works about 5% of the
time. i broke that shit when i tried to zip it up over 17
layers of clothing before i went out ice-fishing for five
being cheap and broke i've decided to piss myself off
everytime i go out in the cold as i try to zip that stupid
piece of shit up. 5% of the time it works, the other 95% of
the time the zipper separates itself and gets stuck.
i've decided to bring this aggravating problem together with
another frustrating dilemma i have. fuck if i know whom i
want to vote for to become president. and the shit, i
guess, that frustrates me the most about my dilemma is that
people just don't seem to ask anything substantive. and
when one substantive question is lobbed at a candidate that
rocket that bitch out of the court as if it were an annoying
fly, all the whilst keyed in on pushing their own
double-speak through instead.
so i got a simple practical question for ALL of them (even
that constantly re-surfacing cancerous tumor known as
kucinich...that sucker won't go into remission no matter how
many sessions of common-sense therapy we launch to combat
his cacophonical ideas).
"can you zip up my jacket?"
then i'd go to each of them and give them one minute. the
candidate who zips me up the fastest will be the one who
gets my vote.
cos seriously...can you give me a better way?
and are you telling me people wouldn't watch barack obama,
tongue in cheek, agonizing over a zipper, cursing under his
breath as he adamantly tries to zip me up?
one other thing that bothers me is the size of trader joe's
aisles. if you're a hippy you know trade joe's, renowned
for their great frozen food, moldy ass produce, and pastey,
shiny-skinned, long-haired, sandal wearing hippies deciding
between organic or free-range chicken.
well trader joe's decided that floor space was not a
pressing priority when opening, consequently their aisles
are about as big as an asian's dick. you can barely fit two
malnourished, living off of rice milk and alfalfa sprouts
kucinich supporters into one of those aisles, let alone two
people of normal, respectable size.
the worst part about it is that the aisles are clogged
because these stoners will stare at a box of spelt for about
5 minutes, zoning in and out trying to remember if they
brought a coupon for this product or the flaxseed tortilla
moreover i was trying to see if they still had those bad-ass
ice-cream sandwiches while this russian couple monopolized
the entire god-damned frozen desert section.
i saddled up next to them which in most advanced cultures
implies, "let me in to see if they still have those bad-ass
ice-cream sandwiches" but apparently in the backwards ass
russian culture they don't understand body language.
i realized i would have to use words for this and grunted to
i heard nothing but the sounds that pigs make when they are
contentedly grunting while feeding from the trough. damn,
do russians not have frontal lobes?
i finally wedged myself in between them and mussed around
the best i could as they debated over some frozen bananas.
there's another thing i'd ask the candidates. "which one of
you all can get trader joe's to disallow all hippies and
russians from crowding the aisles?"
oh and which of you can get me an ice-cream sandwich. i can
just picture myself standing up at the podium as mitt romney
snags his thumb in my zipper as i eat my ice-cream sandwich
with a look of pure bliss.