Goddamn Interns/Man's Inhumanity to Man

I sent our interns to the liquor store with a tenner and explicit instructions to bring back a mouthwash-sized bottle of Old Crow, and they came back with a 12 pack of Natural Ice and a half-assed explanation that liquor stores close at 8 on Sunday in Doodletown USA, and how they had to hoof it to the grocery store to acquire said beer. I cast Plan A and Plan B (our eunuch interns) to empty my recycling bin of unholy empties and I got to thinking, what kind of fucking state closes its liquor stores at 8PM on a Sunday?

I'll tell you- a communist state. Goddamn Communist Doodletown, USA.

Sure isn't Christian to me. It's devoid of all God-fearing sensibilities I can reason. There isn't a Christian God that would want a man to be deprived of cost-efficient whiskey after 12 noon and before the witching hour (10PM, and bow before your Lord). It's the only respectable drinking time after church service. It should run until the God-Given hour of 1AM Monday morning, Eastern Standard (don't trust those cursed Pacific timers).

Especially in this weakend economy, this tawdry economic downturn; why turn away sales? Nay I remind you of the Whiskey Rebellion? Prohibition? Thirsty Christians want an escape from family and society- Sell the blessed drink. Collect your tax, pay your child-support, and all will be satiated.

All I can respond with is, Goddamn Communists. You'll only be happy when we close liquor stores at 4, we all suckle a ration of black-market hooch, and we all drink salty rhetoric from Castro's beard, or Kruschev's spittle, or Kim Jung Il's bad hair and short stature. What do you have? Broken promises, pretty posters, and forced labor- as well as junk bonds, bad loans, and communist theroy. Spend the People's fund on luxury cars and name-brand scotch. Go to Hell.

Plan A and Plan B have completed their tasks as instructed. Get the hell out of Doodletown. They might have shown me that I can drink Natural Ice again, with love, but they can't show me I can forgive.

Not without Old Crow,

Mr. Decent

Greetings Sub-Creatures...

Welcome to Decent People Beware, a blog where hot is cold, right is left, C-A-T spells "dog" and nothing is affected by gravity. We aim to be more in-your-face than cliche and hypthenation allows; and our grammar is top shelf, in case you haven't noticed.



Our staff at D.P.B. will bring you whatever they find that tickles the senses and arouses the mind. We're talking home cooking, punching out from work on Friday, running a red light and not getting pulled over...


...that's what we're after. Think The Simpsons on meth, a place where glasses don't leave wet rings, and people speak/and/or metaphor in triplicate. We'll make your body go numb and decrease your semen, and you'll ask for more. Ask for cookies and we'll give you pepperoni bread. Ask for liquor, and we'll give you the cheapest we can find. We'll even give you ice for that drinky-poo.



We have arch-enemies, we have nemesis' (what's the plural for nemesis? Nemeseis?), we have our friends and our founders. We have The Decent People, and you should hope you are on our side of the fence. That's right, Mr. Right- you should sign your anti-American confession right now.



Get your books translated into English, and stop your foolishness. We're talking to you, Sub-Creatures- you're either Decent, or you're something to disregard.



XOXO



Mr. Decent-