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Ode To Baltos





Oh Baltos, how you woo me with your deliciousness
Artistic label alone you are not
You move me, center me, on a cold day
In the middle of summer
Get off my back
I'm not a poet
Earthy with velvet upon finish
Sure to win you butt sex from the ladies
Two or more bottles of you
Makes for shitty poetry
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For You


All seven of you, loyal readers.

I officially put in for a transfer to my future home a few weeks back. Everyone seemed ok with it and I resumed my normal business duties, which include looking fan-fucking-tastic and kicking competitor ass.

Then, a higher up is speaking with a teammate of mine and when I get brought up (Because I always do, you see. I'm like the largest bag of beef jerky in the world's largest beef jerky store. If that makes any sense) and this higher up proceeds to explain to my fellow employee how I won't be able to transfer for at least a year.

It isn't because I'm bad at what I do. Believe me, I'm the Lexington Steele of my industry. Bigger, stronger, blacker.

It happens to be because of some potential restructuring that will be going on within the company. Because of this the timing happens to be about as bad as you could ask for in terms of transfering.

This craptacular luck is right up my alley.

The Detroit Tigers were on a 6 game winning streak when I finally bet on them. They had won something retarded like a hundred zillion games out of a hundred zillion and one.

They, of course, lost.

Now I owe the Drizzle a ten spot and I have to come to terms (yet again) with how shitty my timing and luck is.

For example...

Ah, fuck it. I ain't giving any examples.

You'll just have to trust me. I have shitty luck and timing.

Anyone who has witnessed me gamble can attest to this.

Thankfully I still have the love and support of s particular female to help keep me from going postal and shanking someone.

Thank you, Japanese restaurant waitress lady Elizabeth, for letting me luck out and win the relationship lottery.

I haven't been lucky in a relationship since old man Jackson failed to see me hiding behind the haystacks. Both of his daughters would like to thank you for that as well.

Of course, Bella can't form sentences any longer, on account of the thrashing I gave her, so you'll have to interpret her hand signals and grunts to get the full picture. If she happens to grunt with wide eyes it's because she pooped herself.

Just so you know.
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