Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Packing with the Poors, Part III

In what is thankfully our final installment of Packing with the Poors, we’ll show you hopeless hobos what to bring to your *shudder* public beach. It’s impossible for me to imagine sharing my sandy waterfront with anyone other than my closest personal friends and business enemies but I suppose if you don’t have a rotating shift of people who are paid to cool your person with fans made with various feathers of endangered birds, you must have to find some way to cool off. So go on ahead and swim it up in that intoxicating combination of someone else’s piss and whale sperm. Ah, summer.

But first, pack up these loosely translated goop suggestions and, per DSS requirements, your 7 kids from 8 different daddies (Maury says the paternity test is still pending so that math adds up) in whatever ramshackle vehicle the repo man hasn’t taken from you yet. And remember, you’re at the beach so have fun because for once no one can blame that fishy smell on you!


(Bargain) Basement

Before we officially end our Packing with the Poors series, I would like to make a few closing remarks. While I would be lying if I said I enjoyed translating goop for you mole people, I feel it would behoove me to thank you for your participation. *golf clap* If your slothfulness, unnaturally poor personal hygiene and inability to use proper birth control hadn’t led you to poverty, I wouldn’t have anyone to be rich in comparison to. So thank you for being so desperate and allowing me be so amazing. I truly couldn’t have done it without you. Actually, no, on second thought, I absolutely could have. After all, as my dear friend Countess LuAnn once said “money can’t buy you class. Elegance is learned, mah frand.” Now get the fuck off of the library computer and off of my website, you poory poor poor, poor person!

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