Helping
one another is what keeps communities strong. If you happen to see your
elderly neighbor struggling to carry a bag of groceries up her stairs
you, obviously you’re going to stop and help. There are a number of
moral reasons for this, but since I can’t think of any specific ones
right now you’ll just have to take my word for it. Wait, heres one: She
might die soon and leave you her old 1992 Chevy Malibu. It might not
seem like much, but I’d say it’d probably be worth about a grand if you
wanted to sell it.

The
joker who hung the flier on the school down the street that says
“Sobriety High School”. It cracks me up every time I drive by on my way
to work. A few days ago I saw a bleary-eyed highschool girl being
escorted out of the mall by police after being caught with her hand
down some old clerk’s pants. I guess she must’ve been huffing paint or
something, because she certainly could’t have been drunk according to
your sign. Also, I was walking my dog down by the ravine just the other
day and I came across some kids stumbling around with paintball guns
with their eyes half closed. There were Coors light cans all over the
place. Guess those kids didn’t get the memo either, huh?

Anyway
just thought I’d say thanks. And really, a sobriety high school!
Sometimes I actually have to pull over I’m laughing so hard. It never
gets old.

My
dumbass son Clayton, who committed suicide a few months ago. I’ve been
letting all this stew inside for a while now, and my shrink said it’d
be a good idea for me to put it all out in the open, so here I am.
Here’s what happened: My idiot fourteen-year-old son killed himself.
That’s pretty much it, actually. I’m not even sure why he did it. He
left a note, but his handwriting is so terrible that I couldn’t even
read it. The only lines I could sort of make out seemed to be some kind
of cheesy gothic poetry or something.

Check it out, here’s an
actual line from it: “Veritible brothers in blood, my disconsulate life
rages on and on against all those martered dead whom walk amonst us.”
Yikes. I mean, I realize the kid was only fourteen (and a messed up
fourteen at that) but come on! We get it, you’re depressed, but would
it KILL you to hit up a dictionary for once? Better yet, why not type your suicide note? It’s only common courtesy.

But
anyway, I think I’m less angry about the suicide than about the
apparent lack of thought he’d given to the whole process. I really hope
if any of my other children choose to kill themselves they’ll shot a
little more concern for those they’ve left behind.

Amphetamines.
Without y’allI wouldn’tve been able to keep my job as an over-the-road
trucker in southern Nebraska for all these years on. I jus think
sometime what my life woulda been like without ya: Hour upon soul
crushin hour of late night drivin through the most barren (physically,
economically, and culturally) lands in this godforsaken country. But
hell, I just pop one or two of those little black beauties and I’m fit
to spit for hours and hours and hours. I never even gotta use my ten
hour federally mandated rest period! Beautiful, ain’t it? Sure, it
tends to raise a few eyebrows when I arrive at my bump thirty-eight
hours early, but what can they do? A piss test? Sheeeeat, I’ve had that
angle covered for years now. You just gotta know the right folks.

Yeah,
without you, amphetamines, I probably would’ve put a bullet between
these big blue eyes of mine long ago. Now if you’ll excuse me, I can
feel em wearing off. Now where did I put that derned envelope…

All
the “kind and compassionate” people who tried to assist me after I was
mauled by that pitbull outside of Savers last Wednesday. First of all,
there was that guy who pointed and shouted “there he goes!” as the dog
was running away across the parking lot and then got in his car and
left Thanks, that was helpful. You could’ve stopped to help me as I lay
screaming there on the sidewalk in a pool of my own blood with my face
torn to shreds, but you didn’t, and that shows a lot of restraint,
which I respect you for.

And then, when the police finally
arrived,things didn’t get much better. The first thing they asked was,
“Could you describe where the animal bit you?” As a reply I just sort
of wagged the chunky straps of skin hanging off my face and sort of
grunted while widening my eyes a little. I think they got the idea.
Then, one of the other cops said, “Can you describe the pitbull?” I
have no idea what I’m supposed to say to a thing like that. Does he
expect me to say, “Oh yes officer, he had the cold lifeless eyes of a
killer. He had a soul patch and walked with a limp. Also I think he had
a tattoo of an anchor on his right shoulder blade!” Ridiculous.

Anyway thanks for nothing you idiots.