Who is Bradentucky Man??

Please check out my friend’s site. It’s a new blog about a city in Florida called Bradenton or “Bradentucky.” It’s the tits.

BRADENTUCKY MAN

mainstreetWhere is he from? – Bradenton, FL (the greatest city on the fuckin’ planet.)

What does he like? – getting drunk, bikini girls, fishing, getting drunk, cussing at the police and getting drunk.

What are his views on politics? – “I’m tired of all the damn illegals taking our jobs.  Fuck Hilary and Obama, bunch a pussies.  Trump baby, that’s where it’s at,” Bradentucky Man.

What does he do for a job?“A little of this, a little of that, don’t fuckin worry about it,” Bradentucky Man.

What are his favorite restaurants? – Basil’s for chicken.  Demetrios for pizza and O’Bricks for fine dining.

What does he think about tourists/snow-birds? – Spend your money, stay off my bar-stool and mind your damn business.

What are his ultimate life goals? – Just make it to the next happy hour…….. and make Bradentucky Great Again.  Wooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!

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Dancing Al Roker (the lost milf)

Pain-pill-addiction-Top-10-signs-and-symptoms2her main job for the day is to take the kids to and from school.  They are older now so the task has become considerably easier. Their Iphones have the alarm clocks now and they no longer care for breakfast.

“The bus leaves in 10 minutes,” she warns them each morning.

her bus is an extended Chevy Suburban with those cute stickers on the back window that helps everyone understand exactly how many kids and pets she has now.  The windows are tinted as dark black as legally possible so no one can see her face absent of make up that earlier in the morning.  The crows feet are deeper now and the dark circles widen with each year.

after dropping them off, kisses blown and back to the house.  Once inside, time for the magical breakfast 5-4-3 cocktail……..5 grapes followed by 4 crushed and snorted Oxy’s followed by a glass of water with 3 lemon slices………….ah, let the numb morning begin.

so much easier to watch the Today show with that “sink into the couch” feeling, damn, Al Roker looks like a little, black, talking prune……..pointing at colorful maps of clouds, rain, snow and bright, smiling suns……….easy, the maps move so fast, so colorful, so fast.

she thinks Al’s dancing again just like he does every morning, “Now here’s what’s happening in your neck of the woods.”  She tries to imagine what her neck and the woods have in common.  “That phrase is so strange,” she thinks as she continually scratches that same place under her chin that she paws at each morning as Al continues to dance.  Thankfully, plenty of turtlenecks in the drawer by the bed.

the couch feels so good, so good that it’s already lunchtime.  Al danced off the screen hours ago, but she doesn’t remember and she doesn’t care.

finding the energy, she pulls her body into the kitchen knowing that she should probably eat something, she opens the fridge and stares, returns to the couch, sinking like an anchor all the way to the bottom

an odd sound grips her ears, slow pulsing guitar chords bend back and forth, back and forth, she realizes it’s her cell phone again and not Al’s dancing music…………

a message, she amazingly finds the voice mail button……

“Hello Mrs. So and So, we were wondering why you didn’t show up at your son’s teacher conference this morning. He said you promised to make it this time. We hope everything is alright,” says the message voice.

No worries, everything is wonderful.  Time for the 5-4-3 lunch.

Rinse and repeat

The First Honest Obituary

Recently, my grandfather passed away at the age of 88.  I won’t bore you with the details.  He was a great man, lived a great life and he died.  That’s just life.

As my family prepared his obituary for the local paper, it got me thinking about a couple of things.  Have you ever noticed how obituaries are always positive and always portray the dead person as a freaking saint?

Now, this has nothing to do with my grandfather, he actually was a saint and never hurt a soul.

But, I would like to prepare an obituary for a hypothetical dead person who was a real piece of shit.

Billy Ray Bumpkus 1980-2012, from Anytown, USA

Well, we all knew it was coming.  Satan finally cashed in Billy Ray’s soul ticket and took him to the depths of hell where he belongs.

We all wondered how it would happen.  Hell, the whole family and neighborhood had a death pool going.

Congrats to Billy Ray’s cousin Lula Bell who correctly predicted that he would die by being bitten by his pet Black Mamba named Hitler.  $100 to you Lula Bell, well done.

Early Life:  Billy Ray was a fairly destructive child.  At age 7, while still breastfeeding, he stumbled upon his neighbor’s meth lab and set the entire trailer park on fire when he tried to light a Newport.  After that incident, Billy Ray began drinking heavily and became known as the “Trailer Park Firestarter.” Continue reading

I Would Like To……

I would like to dip Paula Deen in butter, roll her in flour and then drop her into a huge deep-fat fryer.

Then, once cooked, slice her into little bite-sized pieces and feed all the hungry kids in the world.  I’m sure she would taste like a yummy, plump chicken.

I would like to make people understand that praying does absolutely nothing and waving your hands to the sky only makes birds and aliens very nervous.

Thanks a lot religious freaks, I’ve been waiting for years to be captured by aliens and taken away from this planet.

I would like to lock all the Kardashians in a rubber-walled room with three dictionaries and see who figures out how to open it first. Continue reading

My Addiction

I’m embarrassed, I’m ashamed and I’m weak because I have an addiction.  I’m not proud of what it does to me.  I’m not proud of what I do to get it.  But I do it anyway.

When I first roll out of bed, it nags at me like a hangnail.

“Come get me, you know you need me.  You know you can’t make it an hour without me,” it whispers knowingly in the back of my mind.

I look around my house in odd corners hoping to find a couple of quarters or dimes.  If I can’t find enough there, I lift up my car seats and scour underneath to find the right amount to pay for my it.

Once I find enough change, I get into the car.  I don’t brush my teeth, I don’t bathe, I simply put the car in drive and get there as quickly as possible. Continue reading

John Travolta and the Creepy Van

(I wrote this years ago before any of this “gay” rumor shit was in the news.  And by the way, who gives a fuck if Travolta likes to give rim jobs to hot, male masseurs?)

Am I the only person around who thinks John Travolta is just a bit too creepy and might be that guy you see driving a weird, old van in your neighborhood right after school lets out?

I’m not even talking about the whole Scientology aspect either.  His smile is just a little bit “off” for me.

When I see him on television doing an interview he kind of looks like that guy who drives the old, decrepit van with the tinted bubble window on the back offering kids in your neighborhood candy.

You know the van I’m talking about, the one with the airbrushed wizard mural on the side.  It was the type of van your mother told you to stay away from.

The van that was always circling the elementary school playground, the van with the mini air conditioner unit in the back window speeding away from playgrounds like a convict was driving.

Then, on the rare occasion that the van actually parked somewhere, the guy getting out had bad, green prison tattoos and that crazy Travolta-like smile.

That smile that someone only has when they have one hand down their pants and are alone on their couch watching a neighbor sunbathing.   That smile. Continue reading

The Best Dream Ever

It starts with me walking down a poorly lit hallway with several doors on each side, some cracked open and some closed.  I want to look in each door, but something is making me nervous to look.  But I look anyway.

The first door is numbered 666 and I open it.  There is a huge bed in the middle of the room and I see Rush Limbaugh dressed like a catholic school girl and he has black mascara dripping down his bulbous cheeks like he’s been crying.  He looks at me with his God-Fearing eyes and points to the corner.

In the corner there are two Filipino adult midgets tied together with ball-gags in their mouths, smiling and sitting on top of a very worn out Twister board.

Then out of the closet, Justin Beiber runs out dressed in a lederhosen t-back carrying a crystal magic wand.  He flips his hair, points the wand at Rush and says, “Lady-Boy Alive.”  Immediately Rush grows HHH titties and starts giggling like he’s on laughing gas.

He gets down on all fours on the edge of the bed and Justin mounts him and starts riding him like a donkey.  Rush squeals and Justin just keeps flipping his hair.  Then Usher appears with a video camera and starts taping the whole thing and tells me he’s going to put it on You Tube.

I’m starting to feel a little weird about everything so I try to help the Filipino midgets get untied.

They start blowing me kisses, so I run out of the room and slam the door shut.  At the end of the hallway I see my 5th grade teacher standing next to a urinal and she says, “I told you that you wouldn’t amount to anything.”  I wake up and realized I pissed myself, again.