Get Me Out Of Here

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Right now, it’s cold enough to melt fire.  All winter long, the snow has been accumalting like our national debt but it’s the bone chilling wind that really bothers me.  This wind could rip the nipples off a rhino.  With climate change ready to bust it’s load all over planet earth, I fear this sort of torture will become more common.  A hasty retreat may be my only option but where should I go? Perhaps Libya?  If Qaddafi has taught me anything, it is that you can find some really nice sunglasses in Libya.  Maybe I could go to the Ivory Coast.  They have an internationally recognized president who does nothing and then they have guy who just runs shit.  Sounds like Bush and Cheney. What about Amsterdam?  Supposedly they are now trying to limit drug use amongst foreigners.  So in other words, I will not be going there.  Iowa? Okay, that’s a joke.  Who the fuck would want to live in Iowa? For some unknown reason, when I think Iowa, I think hobo hotbed.  If I don’t know how to hop a train or how to cook beans over a dumpster fire, I don’t think I’d survive a week in Iowa.  That leaves me with Texas. The land of steers and queers, or so they say.  Which gets me thinking, if Texas has both queers and steers, it would beg to reason that there must be some segment of the population that’s is both queer and steer.  With that being said, what does a gay cow taste like and would I want to eat it?  I’m certainly not prejudiced against cows or bulls that chose to live an alternative lifestyle but I also don’t want my cow to taste like it spent it’s life fighting for acceptance in a cruel world, while simultaneously playing women’s hockey.  And if I’m eating a bull and it tastes like it enjoyed a good bubble bath, a night of dancing, and a stiff cosmopolitan,  I’m not sure how I’ll react.  If nothing else, at least it’ll be rich in protein, I guess. 

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