This is an on point article on one of our numerous male self-emasculation rituals in Sissy America. I used to see these people every summer down the Inner Harbor on my way home from work, hoping they would get mugged.
If you don’t already know what this is, get a beer, crack it open, and prepare to knock it back, and laugh—you have to laugh or its going to hurt. Bernie, Ishmael, you guys are going to flip—get a bottle. When some younger guys told me about this I felt like some fаggot was sneaking up on me with a jar of mayonnaise.
Maybe we can use these queers for hoodrat “oh snap, my baby got shot just for pointing a gun at someone!” memorials?
James, I'm stopping by the cemetery tonight to see if Uncle Charley, and my Dad have busted out, I'm pretty sure they wont be rolling over in their graves. Ishmael.
I'm speechless!
I wonder if this clown looked in a mirror before he trotted out of his stable?
The rainbow (seemingly appropiate, huh?)wig is just the final touch.
I do hope he never breeds! (remind me to tell you what the drill instructor said to one of my platoon in Basic)
As the British used to say, "Misses his Mother, he does!"
Your point about departed hoodrat memorials is right on point, I see serious commercial potential, with the proper backing.
Or, as Mencken remarked, "Nobody ever went broke underestimating the good taste of the American people."
Can I get an Ah-men?