1/21/2024 0 Comments Mc hammer bust a move![]() ![]() Unlike my beloved Classic Coke, Pepsi enters the blood stream immediately, causing erectile dysfunction, nausea, diahreekie and hallucinations. Instead of the deadly curare, like our friends in Santa Clarita’s sister city, The Amazon use, try Pepsi. A snappy way to mitigate the Homeless Problem? Thin the herd of Democrats? I’m not at all suggesting using poison darts. “Pffffttttt…!!!” Person, probably Republican, grabs neck, pulls out feathered dart, swoons, but not before realizing, “… a lot of good this stupid mask did me …” They don’t conceal blow guns in Borneo because, according to several aging copies from Councilman Cameron Smyth’s borderline porno National Geographic childhood collection, nobody wears clothes in Borneo plus they eat people, and monkeys, so, unless you have a fabulously disarming smile, people, and, for that matter, monkeys, will notice you’re carrying 8 feet of skimpy irrigation pipe that expels a poison dart. But blow guns? Big no-no followed by several hundred “tuts…” I’d have to move to own a blow gun. Rioting, looting, pillaging or torching a house of worship? They’re legal, if not encouraged. Not in You Guys Are No Fun Anymore California. You’d think blow guns, like Cha-Cha, are different. Fortunately, she said, “No.” What were you thinking?” “QUESTION #72 - Back in 1967, you asked Sheila “Cha-Cha” Muldooney, a real nasty North Oaks coed and future fornicator well-known to the FBI, to the Hart High Jr. QUESTION #103,496 - “If you could go back in time and save just five of the nice gunfighters from the original ‘Magnificent 7’ movie, who would they be and why?” Or, Have You Ever Been Or Are You Considering Being A Nut Case?” forms. And the required 315,006 pages of “Be Honest. Just buying a handgun comes with the Annoying Oil Slick Hair Gel Newsom 1,243% ammo tax. “Pants around my ankles …” Lyric from a Deborah Harry forlorn disco love ballad?įorget the Concealed Carry. I reach for my piece, only to discover I’m just standing there, pants around my ankles. Hammer song, I don’t know what is.įaces distorted, the gang charges. What if I were confronted by several dozen rock-throwing, angry, store-looting youths? I reach for my concealed carry, just north of my heinie crack.Ĭan’t touch this. Constantly holding a weapon brings unwanted judgment and people think you’re a public menace, which, in their defense, they have a point. ![]() Try cutting a steak while holding a loaded weapon, or, worse, peeling an orange. You’re constantly switching the revolver back and forth, from hand-to-hand. Just walking around with a drawn gun doesn’t work. My jeans, 12 feet of tooled cowboy belt, loaded revolver, bullets and dignity would be lying there in a non-OSHA clump, around my ankles, on the floor, where, at night, germy cockroaches frolic. If I were to stick a revolver behind my back into my trousers, engineering would fall victim to gravity. To keep excess beltage from riding up to my chin, I have to attach said belt to my previous lifetime Fat Pants (no relation to the old 1930s blind blues singer) via little vise grips. Formerly snug and tooled cowboy belts now wrap around my waist in 11 complete circles. One of the unintended consequences of losing all this weight is that I’m between jean sizes (Circus Tent to Size 34). SCV Signal News Podcast with Aron Bender. ![]()
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