Friday, July 20, 2012

And Fuck You Temp Agencies

Miserable fucking asshole slave trading cunts! I pissed in your cups again and had you tell me which opioids I had been using and Cocaine, and Meth and Pot. God, this country is so fucked in the ass if you have men trying to find honest work with their cock in their hands pissing into a cup ON THE DAY OF THE FUCKING INTERVIEW, my gray pubic hairs and withered scrotum somehow being relevant to the urine in my bladder and my swollen prostate and my ability to assemble electro-mechanical components. You cock sucking assholes in the past and the future and present who mislead the freedom that was possible into the toilet of despair.
I fucking hate everything about this and if it were not for the fact I am now totally destitute and broken and have separated my shoulder and collarbone from almost crashing the van and so ended up with one arm at a homeless shelter pasta plate buffet "YOU MUST SHOWER TO EAT" then I would piss in a cup and toss in your fucking face.
Drug Detection Period Cutoff Level
Marijuana (THC) 7-30 days* 50 ng/mL
Cocaine(COC) 2-4 days 300 ng/mL
Opiates (OPI) 2-4 days 2000 ng/mL
Methamphetamines (mAMP) 3-5 days 1000 ng/mL

So, yes, you got me to be desperate and harassed by police on all sides of the border and I will do your toe stands and climb your ladder "Faster Mr. Bleacher, your score depends on speed" because I am a big fucking ape and I will smile and make jokes about exercise as I breath heavily near your withered neck fat but let me tell you that I will spare nothing in print. You fucking whore bags with tainted mercury chinese Hannah Montana makeup and the lack of wit to spell Washington or freedom on your twitter account. This country has been mercilessly raped  by your lack of conviction and I will strip the breasts from your chickens and happily and flawless grind the grit from the sewage pipeline but when I am before my typewriter and you think that my memory has been expunged by the brutality of my lack of Opiates to deaden then pain (but pain pills are provided by the chicken slaughter house for my convenience) you think I won't crucify you but that is where you are wrong because nothing can stop my fingers once they have found the swords of my almighty alphabet and I will raise my voice and I will conspire against you and lie on your entrance exam ("How many times have you stolen from your employer in the last two years?"
"Well, every fucking chance I can get because I am a poor man with one good arm and I live in a van and I don't give a fuck!") hahahah.

Yes, others will write about poverty through a lens of civility but I have stumbled down the source of poverty and I know the feeling of my withered penis as it drips salty urine into the bowl of my own demise and I will translate that pain in my pride as you kick it with your safety instructional video. And I speak two languages, English and Poverty and now there will be others who understand the land of freedom has been vanquished under their noses and piece by piece their rationalizations will crumble until they either admit that they are evil or they rise up and are proud for a day in their lives and we remake the nation in the image of men and not slaves or drug offenders. Until we all rise up and make these secretaries drink our urine then there is no America to celebrate and no freedom. The flag is already burning and I'm out of piss to put it out.
Creative Commons License
Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.