Fed's Blog

Fedele

Fedele

TNPer
The other day I went to a baseball game. I sat back in my seat and watched the Astros tear Colorado a whole new asshole and wished I had gone ahead and bet money on them. In nine innings the score was at a remarkably close 12 to 2 in favor of the 'Stros. I always loved watching anything from Colorado get its ass kicked. It all goes back to my childhood (4 years ago).

I knew this kid named Tommy who always used to screw with me. When I had first moved in that neighborhood he tried to attack me from behind my back. I grabbed him by his arm when he came after me and I flipped him over my shoulder like a bag of horse feed and slammed him on the ground so hard I felt my own bones rattle. You would think the bastard would have learned his lesson. He was bigger than me and stronger than me so it frustrated the hell out of him that I was a much better fighter. Time after time he would come after me and I would kick his ass with my relentless barrage of punches. I used to laugh as I walked away from him sprawled out across the ground amused with the repeated irony of him starting a fight in all confidence and finishing it with his back on the dirt whining about me being a son of a bitch. I love my family very much so insulting them never went over well with me but I let this slide as the pointed words of a defeated opponent. I never started fights with him but I always enjoyed them. They were a good way to let out steam. In between fights we would even hang with a polite dislike for each other. His whining about Texas and how everything was dangerous bothered the hell out of me and made me wish he would start a fight with me. Sure enough, shortly before I left Humble, the kid started after me again and I laid him out on the ground. He had a black eye or something; it wasn't too bad. I walked off not wanting to get my hands messy before dinner but he had other plans. After his usual "You fucking son of a bitch" I never even bothered to turn around. He was kind enough to turn me around and fill my vision with a single fist that rung the bell for round two. Like I said, this kid was stronger than me so that unexpected punch made it feel like I had loose change flying around in my skull. He was on top of me punching my face but I already had my adrenaline going again. I flipped him over on his back and took a hard hook at his temples on the side of his head and balanced it out on the other side. I kept doing this as he looked like he was about to cry and felt his hand come up to grab my shirt like a man trying to pull himself out of a lion's den. I shoved my knee into his face hard enough to split his lip and continued this for some time. I got up, tired from the work out, and walked off amused to noticed that he still tried to curse at me through the blood coming into his mouth from his lip split from corner to corner. That kid never messed with me again and told me his head had hurt for the whole night and the morning.

So it was great to see Colorado get their asses handed to them. I went again this Sunday and watched the 'Stros swing pink bats (Mother's Day + Breast Cancer) and Pettitte shut them out. I love the Astros.

I always see the most interesting people at the baseball games. We have season tickets down the left field line andtwo Italian guys sit in front of us. One guy, big with a little beard, wore a Clemens jersey and reminded me of Clemenza from The Godfather. He wasn't jolly like Clemenza, far from it, but he definitely fit every other bit of the role. The guy next to him had a Micheal Corleone type of personality that seemed to say that he knew he was surrounded by idiots but he didn't let it bother him. He probably only stood up once during the game and I don't think he even clapped then. Neither of them really clapped. They just watched the field like they were watching a drama and Micheal bought two beers for them. Funny: I never saw them drink the beers but they always seemed to be empty by the end of the game.

It isn't always interesting people, though. I walked my younger brother to the restroom and I saw a guy who looked like he had purposely bumped into him in the hall. He started to stand too close to him when the hall was crowded, in my opinion, but was polite enough to quickly relocate himself after I gave him a look like I would wiggle some teeth.

Mother's Day: I went to Foley's and bought this perfume I remembered my mom mentioning months ago. I went up to the counter like a real pezzonovante and said it was cheaper than I thought it would be when the sales lady said it was $70-something.

That's all.
 
Foresting California Grass​

Maybe it is just my stubborn dependence on logic but it seems to me that education should prepare you for occupation. If that is the case, why should education take priority over occupation especially when one does not need to be substituted for the other?

I went to a trade show on Saturday to help set up a booth for Premier Merchandising, the company I work for. I had a pretty good time. I got there at about 7:25 in the morning and got home at 11 at night. It was a good, full day.

Many people in TNP mistakenly think that my personality is the same as "Fedele" in real life. The same can be said for "Scardino" in LWU and "Fantoccini" in TWP, all of whom have very distinct personalities and characters. In truth, each of these characters draws some characteristics from me in real life and fill in the other parts of their personalities with exaggerations of characteristics I have observed in other people that I either found humorous or interesting.

Fedele is a mix between my more light-hearted side and a spoof on people I have seen who are centered heavily on sex (avatar, risque humor) as well as people who put their faith in ideals, most notably political ideals, that I see as nonsensical or absurd (anarcho fascism).

I originally got the idea for Anarcho Fascism when I thought to myself about the most ideal system (or, in this case, lack of) and the most efficient. I decided that, by my standards, theocratic anarcho communism was ideal as was a fascist state as invented by Mussolini (as compared to those run by Hitler, Francisco Franco, that Japanese guy and others) with heavy influence from Niccolo Machiavelli.

As for the emphasis on sex, I am actually much different in person. Interesting story about that...

When I went on my second cruise I went to the club to take a look around. I saw two girls that looked like they could use a little male intervention and asked one of them if they cared to dance. She smiled at me softly and said she already had a dance partner and pointed to her friend. Naturally, not being one to be lowered any significant degree by such a minor rejection, I asked her friend if she wanted to dance. To this I received a similar smile and, in a voice like a grief counselor talking to a rape victim, told me, “No… you see, I’m dancing with her”. My face looked just like this: :mellow:

Well, they both had a look on their faces at this point like the way two parents look at their only child wondering if they understand what is happening when they tell them they are getting a divorce. As if they weren’t sure I understood what they were saying, they put their hands together. I understood and, well, I must say: That is some pretty shitty luck for a first attempt. Needless to say I put myself in self-imposed exile and sat with the wallflowers for a while before dancing with anyone else.

Anyway, later that night I was sitting with Jeremy at the bar (I didn’t drink anything) and these two girls approached me. One of them told me in a somewhat shy voice, as if it was her first time to ask a guy out, that her and her friend wanted to take me upstairs to their cabin. I politely declined and thanked them for the offer.

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Now, I sat at the bar talking to Jeremy until I looked over my shoulder and saw, in the window, one of the girls pull a single, semi-transparent curtain closed and proceed to undress the other. I started to tell Jeremy what was going on behind and above us and he cut me off mid sentence with “I know”. Needless to say, he told me I was a total bastard for turning them down and the bartender just said “Oh-mah-God” and made no attempt to be discrete in his staring.

I’ve turned down more girls asking me to bed than I have taken to bed, mainly because I don’t like the whole idea of casual sex, but I do think it is something to be able to say you have turned down two girls wanting to share your wealth.

Alright, kids. Scram.
 
But You Better Not Pick It​

I had a dream last night that made me think a bit. I dreamed of an old friend I had gone to school with. I was walking with her and, in the same way that there are some things you have simply always known, I could tell that we were together and that she was pregnant but not far along enough to be showing. Perhaps we, in the dream, had just found out she was pregnant. The dream is difficult for me to remember but I do remember staying with her and deciding to raise the child with her, possibly get married later on but the general feel of the dream was that it was out of wedlock. I am a strong believer in Freud’s theory that our dreams are doorways to our subconscious mind that open up thoughts we repress or ignore when we are conscious so I stopped to think about what the dream meant. I now feel that I know exactly what this tells me about myself but it could be terribly inconvenient and would no doubt change my life.

On my way to work every day I see a billboard with a man’s picture and a description of him and the reward for information leading to his arrest. The text is too much to read when I go 60 mph past it but I just assume that is what it is about. The other day I drove by and this time it had a white strip across his picture that said “CAPTURED”. Sometimes I think to myself what an interesting life that would be. I almost envy the men who are hunted by law enforcement officials all across the country. Perhaps I would go to live in west Texas in the hills with the private knowledge that I was a hunted man who would never be found.

I almost got in a pile up today on the way to work. I was driving in the fast lane at ~80 mph when a car about 15 cars ahead of me slammed on their breaks. Everyone down the lane had to slam on their breaks and many turned into the lane beside them to avoid hitting the car in front of them and, in turn, almost hit the cars in the lane beside them. Luckily I was a decent distance behind them (4 second rule) and slammed on my breaks but quickly saw that even with my breaks pressed all the way I will slam into the rear of the car in front of me. At the last second, with my breaks still screaming, I steered my car onto the shoulder of the road and saw my front bumper pass up the passenger door of the car in front of me. Ironically enough, I think it was an ambulance that almost caused the accident.

Fedele almost retired from NS.

Ciao, peeps.
 
I wasted ten seconds of my life on your dull, uninteresting and dimwitted blog. I will never have those ten seconds back and, for that, I hope you die a most painful death.
 
Black Dog​

Yesterday I went to Zio’s and had penne and marinara. That was the best damned marinara sauce I have ever had but that’s not the main focus of this. As I sat there eating past me walks a little Latina who was, quite possibly, the most beautiful girl I had seen in a very long time. I made my usual eye contact with a slight smile that seems to always hook waitresses for me and she returned the favor. Every time she walked by she flirted with me without parting her lips. Suddenly I noticed that her hips were bobbing a bit more than usual when she walked and she routinely positioned herself in a way that accented her breasts that were so thinly veiled by the tight fitting black shirt. This was more than enough to make my meal enjoyable but when I got up to leave I caught her eye and gave her the same slight smile but received nothing but recognition in return. It's the same look I've recieved a few times from a girl who feels like she'll be on her back in seconds unless she makes it look like she really isn't interested.

And the marinara was wonderful.

When I was in highschool my friend, Kelly, had been going through a lot of hard times and a bit of depression. Thanks largely to my interest in psychology (though I had not yet taken the class at that point) and just being a good friend I helped her through it. A while after that she asked me in the hallway, "Zach, (most people called me by my last name but I'm pretty sure she called me by my first at that time) will you have sex with me?" She was (I haven't seen her in a long time; I'm sure she still is) absolutely beautiful but I was a bit afraid of cheapening our friendship into one of those silly "friends with benefits" bits and if she was more serious about a relationship I didn't want that to be the way it started. I politely dodged around the question saying "Well, not in the hallway!"

A friend of mine named Phillip had a girlfriend who was also a friend of mine named Danielle. They were off and on and she was always flirting with me with her eyes. I decided that I would, seeing as it would not be difficult at all, take Danielle for myself. If Phillip wanted to fight me over it I would floor him in seconds. Unfortunately, however, my parents pulled me out of the public school and put me in some private school where I was surrounded by kids who were born with two fists full of cash.

Current avatar: Salvatore Giuliano - A hero for the people of Sicily.

Alright, get the hell out of my house.
 
I forgot to mention something. Last time I heard from Danielle she said she was getting married. Even though I had never made my move on her and even though it had been a year or two since I had even talked to her, I still felt a stiff pang of jealousy. Maybe it is a nagging fear or maybe it is a strange, twisted hope, but I get the feeling she isn’t happy and might be caught up in some gritty stuff.
 
Fedele:
I forgot to mention something. Last time I heard from Danielle she said she was getting married. Even though I had never made my move on her and even though it had been a year or two since I had even talked to her, I still felt a stiff pang of jealousy.
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Not what I expected those words to be.

Once again, I used to think you were smart.
 
OPArsenal:
Fedele:
I forgot to mention something. Last time I heard from Danielle she said she was getting married. Even though I had never made my move on her and even though it had been a year or two since I had even talked to her, I still felt a stiff pang of jealousy.
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Not what I expected those words to be.

Once again, I used to think you were smart.
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You break my heart.

Blue, what the hell are you smoking?
 
Damn the Alamo​

Alright, hundreds upon hundreds of our boys fight and die in the Alamo by the rifles of the Mexicans. Sam later lets Mr. Anna follow him down to a field and opens up a fresh can of
Whoop.jpg

on him and all his troops. The battle ends in fifteen minutes and Texas has its independence. Yay.

Alamo.jpg


So much for fucking independence.
 
What is it With Waitresses?​

Well, someone, who shall remain unnamed (Limitless) said that my blog that talked almost entirely about women didn't have enough about women in the last paragraph. I'll try to make up for it.

I went to Hooters for lunch the other day with the guys at work. No big deal. I got about 25 wings that left me hungry and noticed something a bit unsettling. A girl I had gone to school was a waitress there. I doubt she would remember me and I couldn't remember her name but I don't remember her being so.... developed. That place usually doesn't get me off too much because I'm not a big fan of a girl who can't even sit down because her back hurts from hauling the damned things around all day. I mean, it's entertaining for a while, don't get me wrong, but it's a phony kind of attractiveness. It's what you would call "Hot" but you would never call one of the girls there "Beautiful". And respect? Forget about it.

So, seeing as I eat out every day, I went to Pizza Shack the other day. It's this little Italian resteraunt that I hope never gets big. It has such great food and is the only place I have been able to find that serves cannoli. Anyway, I noticed that one of the waitresses that works there is a girl named Ashley that I knew from school. She had become a pretty good looking girl, too. She was less "Hot" and more "Beautiful", though, if you understand by now what I mean.

And, now, I'm going to cycle through my short list of official girlfriends. I have others that I had but it was never really stated. It was like an implied relationship. And girls from cruises don't count. No particular order.

Katrina - At least I think that was her name... She was cute and had a nice personality. Not a whole lot to this story.

(Name?) - I forget her name but she was my second. She was a little country but had a real cute face. She was "pretty" or "cute" but not quite "beautiful".

Theresa - Well... My interest in her was a little less innocent. She was the "Hot" one that every guy has to have (and probably did) before he realises that he'd rather have a "cute" or a "beautiful". She had more luggage upstairs than my attic and was everything you could ask for in a porn star. As far as personality goes, well, I'm not sure. We didn't talk a whole lot.

Rebeckah - Ah, she was nice. She was very cute and talked with an accent imported directly from Norway that drove me nuts. She was 19 and I was 16. She had moved from Norway to England to America and told me it was nice to finally get out of England and meet a good looking guy (her words, not mine). She was attracted to my "badass" act. I had a complete disregard for rules of any kind and ignored any sort of punishment that was sent my way. I wasn't like Axl Rose badass but I played the part of the humble rebel who could only be tamed by one girl.

In my experience, that is the best role to play. Almost all girls want to be the only one that can tame a guy, even if they won't admit it. They love to be the only one that can turn a guy's aggression into a soft compliance with their emotions, most notably love.

On one of my cruises, the one with Jeremy and the stripping lesbians, I played my cards to perfection. Interestingly enough, I played the cards on Jeremy's girlfriend. She was a yankee tracing her miles all the way back to Brooklyn and her "You geyez" drove me nuts. Whenever we got on the elevator and someone else got on I would, like I normally did, see if I could start a conversation with them. In the 15 seconds it took for them to get on their next floor I could talk to them about how their vacation had been so far and what they did in Cozumel (EVERY cruise goes to Cozumel - You can go to Alaska and they'll stop by Cozumel on the way back - it's insane). One time, when she was on the elevator with me and I said hi to someone she looked at me like I was making a huge scene of an overcooked steak at a nice resteraunt. When they got off the elevator she turned on me like we were married and said, "Why do you have to talk to everyone who steps in the elevator!?" I replied that I was just being polite and she said, "Well, stop!" I never understood that, though. If I stopped talking to people I didn't know I would miss out of meeting a lot of interesting people.

On my most recent cruise I bought a $16 Cuban, even though I don't smoke, so I could meet girls. Meeting girls on cruises is a dangerous pass-time because on a cruise every 16 or 17 year old girl with a pair tells you she's 18 or 19. What, with all the steroids and crap in beef these days you have to be careful. Looks can be deceiving. Anyway, so I basically assumed that any girl who was smoking was 18. I'd walk up to them if they caught my interest and ask them for a light. I would never smoke cigarettes but a cigar was ok if I had the proper incentive. It was the first time I had ever smoked a cigar and I didn't cough or anything. Later, after I had made my rounds, I met up with some guy and his girlfriend that I had been hanging out with and she was hanging on my shoulders the whole time. She said she loved hugging me because I smelled so good.

Not to self: Havana Cigars > Cologne
 
Hey, You, Get Off of My Cloud​

Ok, so I got back from work today and I'm tired, my back hurts (AT 18!), my arms have been imbedded with fiberglass needles and my hands look like I've spent 8 hours fingering a clown. I suppose now would be a good time to explain my job. Rest assured, it does not involve the circus.

I work at Premier Merchandising and right now our location is expanding. We are buying a leased suites beside us making it three that we own. I'm running all the electrical and phone lines that need to be run.

I work as the sales and technical assistant and work with whichever group needs me. We sell these monsters. They print banners and posters for advertising and generally run for about $16,000. It doesn't sound all that interesting but I do enjoy my job. I've learned the product pretty well and I promised to sacrifice my un-conceived child to Kodak so we get good prices for our customers. Poor kid.

I've worked a bit on the phone talking to customers and potential customers but my real joy is talking to them in person. Over the phone I sound quite a bit older than I really am because of my fairly deep voice (for my height, size). When I talk to customers in person they see me as being young but when I talk I talk about things and state my facts as certainties and my opinions as facts.

I'm rambling. I'll cut it off here.

Edit: Screw that.

[rant] You know what singes my nerves? What the hell did the Irish ever do for America? Huh? What did they give us? They gave us alcoholism and unemployment, that's what. They get a holiday for a saint that never even knew America existed. Perfect excuse to get wasted and wear green.

Orange is a shitty color for a flag.

America was discovered by and named after an Italian. What do we get? Nothing.

Thanks, America. Fuck you.

[/rant]
 
Like a True Nature's Child​

I went to the Potato Patch the other day to eat. It’s a chain of restaurants but the one I went to still carried that old charm like it had been pulled out of the 1930’s in El Paso and put on a side road in Houston. As soon as I walked in I saw a waitress with very nice eyes. She was looking straight into mine and not being the least bit shy about it. I kept walking. When I sat down I saw a dark haired girl sitting at a table with a man and a woman who looked to be her parents. She was about 20 years old and they looked like they were in their late fifties or sixties. Having the interest I have in ancestry, the first thing I noticed, aside from her curvaceous features, was that she was obviously Eastern European though her parents looked to be Irish with some German. Maybe she was adopted. I sat there and she would glance at me on occasion as she talked to her parents and I, with just a co-worker with me, was a bit less subtle (intentionally). She got up and went out of her way to walk past me. There’s something appealing about a girl who tries to be casual about kinda-flirting and fails miserably. She walked past me the first time to use the restroom or grab a mint or some shit. When she walked back past me, about 15 seconds later, making me wonder what the hell she could have done that only took 15 seconds, I saw what ruined my image of her the way the death photo ruined your image of Marilyn Monroe. It was horrible. This girl, so terribly gifted, had no ass. None. Nothing whatsoever. So, to hell with that. I let my buddy take the tab and hurried with the rest of my meal.

I remember walking past that one blood stain on the concrete by the bike rack in Humble. I heard it was from a kid who got his jaw cracked open like a walnut with a pair of brass knuckles over some Pokemon cards. There’s a delicious bit of irony in that.

Fin.
 
She walked past me the first time to use the restroom or grab a mint or some shit.
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What goes on in Texas restraunt bathrooms, stays in Texas restraunt bathrooms.

Pancake butt = awful.
 
OPArsenal:
She walked past me the first time to use the restroom or grab a mint or some shit.
Click to expand...

What goes on in Texas restraunt bathrooms, stays in Texas restraunt bathrooms.

Pancake butt = awful.
Click to expand...
Well, whatever she did took less time than it took for me to chew a piece of okra. I wouldn't be surprised if she just wanted to get up and walk past me.
 
Eyes of the Bluest Skies​

I read Men’s Health from time to time but there is very little in it that I actually put into practice. Don’t get me wrong; I’m pretty health/exercise oriented but I like to decide for myself what I think is best. I use it a lot of the times just as guidelines to give me an idea of what is right.

Anyway, I always love the article they have, in every single issue, that is titled something like “150,000 Ways to Make her Orgasm”. Seriously. I love these articles. They say the same thing every time. I won’t get detailed because Hers is probably already stroking the Warn button but it’s the typical ‘Slow Hands’ approach. The good part is at about number five when, sadly, they begin to run out of ideas. I mean, hell, they suggest all kinds of crap after number five. From mascot costumes to double teaming a blow up doll, I just can’t decide what the best technique is.

ANYWAY

Girls kill me. I swear. I see one I like and I think I’m going to take a few steps forward when, lo and behold, a husband appears from the midst. What the hell is that all about? Not cool. I saw a girl, early twenties, wearing a tight fitting orange (ugly ass color) shirt and probably other stuff, too. She’s looking about the place rather absent mindedly, thinking about something else, and I was thinking I might try to take her mind off things. Husband shows up. Well, I was just going to get a mint, anyway… <_<

When I was coming home tonight a fire truck passed me up. Sirens make me very nervous. Anxiety attack-ish. An ambulance went by shortly after. I may explain why I get that way but not now.
 
If I could be a superhero I would be justice guy. I'd make sure people get what they deserve, especially women who lie. Like if a wife left her husband With three kids and no job To run to fucking Hawaii With some doctor named bob I would skin them and drain them of blood so they die (especially Bob). Then I would be Justice Guy.
 
Knights in White Satin​

Some guys make really jealous boyfriends. Though a girlfriend flirting with another guy would bother me, or so I assume, I've never really been bothered simply by them being good friends with other guys. I am, however, and have always been, very protective of girlfriends and, to be honest, just girls in general.

My family is not poor by anybody's standards but we have not always been 'well off'. To me, it is inconceivable that someone would look down upon someone else, especially in youth, for having less money. I see no reason why one should see someone whose parents earn less money as being inequal to them. The monetary success of their parents does not dictate their future monetary success. Nor should monetary success even be an issue when judging a person.

When I was in my freshman year, after moving out of Humble, I rode the bus to school and back every day. On our bus, filled with the priviledged offspring of upper middle class parents, was a girl who lived in a trailor home. She was constantly looked down on by everyone else. Even though they joked and talked with her they still resented her, as was obvious by the looks in their eyes, and, as she got off the bus, everyone fell silent as they watched her walk into her home. I hated those people. I hated them with a burning passion that turned into a bitter hatred in the center of my chest. Every time I felt their resentment toward her I felt like bringing my knuckles down upon them until ever drop of my fist was like a hammer on a wet sponge. I hated that those conceded bastards felt that they had the right to judge a person the way they did. I know she went home and cried. Whenever I could I would sit next to her on the bus, simply because I knew she felt my presence as a sort of safeguard against their prejudices. Even as I felt their resentment toward her I could feel her ease and comfort brought on simply by being around somebody who didn't look down on her and would protect her and eagerly distort the face of any pride-stricken steer on that bus should the need arise. Through her beauty and charming personality she was not enough to earn their favor but I, through living on an acre and a half of land and a big house, was to be held in high regard. I despised them for their spiteful hypocrisy and for the fact that they looked to me with their hollow eyes with some perverted version of respect passed on to them by the, no doubt, egotistical bastards they called their parents. I hated them for hating her. I hated them for liking me. I hated them for everything that they were.
 
Life Lessons with Fedele​

If you tell a Mexican that they are "mucho coolo" you'll probably get punched in the face.
 
That or a friendly, "Hey, you! Yea, you, ameeego! Say the badges thing! Say it! Coooome on! Please...?"
 
Is that a Volvo in Your Pocket?​

A stockbroker from New York was taking a vacation in The State (Texas) and was enjoying his time duck hunting one day. He raised his gun and shot one down and saw it go spiraling down to the ground. He walked toward where it had fallen and came to a barbed wire fence with a "No Trespassing" sign. The Yankee bastard saw the duck just a few feet past the fence and climbed over to get it. He walked over and picked it up and turned to go back to his spot when a pick-up truck pulled up behind him. He stopped and turned around to see an old man in his sixties step out with a shot gun clad in cowboy boots, jeans and a plaid collared shirt.

"You know what you did?", the old man asked as he walked toward the yank.

"Well, I just came over to get my duck. I shot it down and it..."

"You trespassed", he said, cutting him off. "That duck landed on my property so it's mine."

"But I shot it", the dickhead protested.

"Well, here in Texas", the rancher lied, "we have a way of dealin' with this sort of thing. It's called the 'Three Kick Rule'. You see, I kick you three times and then you kick me three times and take turns. Whoever lasts the longest gets the duck."

Well, the blue-coat looked at the old man and figured that would be the most one sided fight he had ever been in and laughed as he accepted the challenge. The old man then proceeded to deliver a sharp kick to his shin with the pointed boots and, as the yank bent over to grab his leg in pain, kicked him in the mouth knocking two of his teeth loose. As the man fell over sideways on the ground the rancher kicked him as hard as he could in the kidney. The stock-yanker slowly rose to his feet with his face red with anger. He wiped the blood trickling out of his mouth and said, "Now you're gonna get it, old man".

The old man laughed and turned away. "I give up. You can keep the duck."


The moral of the story is as follows:
If you come across a fork in the road, it probably needs to be washed.
 
I don't watch "South Park". It is such petty and hollow minded forms of entertainment that I would much rather leave to the uneducated proletariat masses as the mindless slap-stick and fart-joke humor is the only type they do and likely will ever understand. Perhaps they are able to relate to the simpletons portrayed on the show more than the great, influential men told of in these clever little clusters of bound paper called "books".
 
Fedele:
I don't watch "South Park". It is such petty and hollow minded forms of entertainment that I would much rather leave to the uneducated proletariat masses as the mindless slap-stick and fart-joke humor is the only type they do and likely will ever understand. Perhaps they are able to relate to the simpletons portrayed on the show more than the great, influential men told of in these clever little clusters of bound paper called "books". Reno 911!
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Fixed your post.
 
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