God, I hate election years. All the overweight 40-year-olds in croakies lining up for the local news cameras with their shitty joke shirts and parody songs like it’s a science fair for sad adults who know a screenprinter. It’s nice to think that during the interceding years they’re the guys cranking out the Take Me Drunk I’m Homes and Pissing Calvins that brighten our trips to the mall, but the reality is probably a lot closer to the abusive dad in that movie where they give the little girl a beer and then she pees on the couch. Do you know which one we’re talking about? PS: How rich would it be if some dipshits got “angry” at the cola company cause they didn’t make one for Ron Paul?
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