It Must Be Nice To Be a Retired Motherfucker

It must be nice to be a retired motherfucker, wear shorts with socks, and have the time to teach a damn dog how to play basketball. (Okay, so it's cute--not the shorts and socks--the damn dog--stay with me here. It's not that hard, motherfuckers!)

You can bet in his spare time, when he's not making like Bobby Knight with the canine, this same guy is holding up some productive working motherfucker at the Kroger while he chats to the cashier or the deli chick or the sushi guy. You can also bet this geriatric motherfucker is one of the old cranks trying to be new-fangled, working up some balls to try and figure out how the self-check out works and then taking 20 minutes to ring up, bag, and pay for one damn container of Metamucil. BECAUSE THIS FUCKER IS RETIRED, AND THAT MEANS HE HAS ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD. ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD!

SB filled out a 401-K form the other day that asked my retirement age. My ass seriously put 99. I meant that shit, too! George W. Bush fucked any chance I had of being able to retire EVER. Now, that illiterate fucker is writing his memoirs for millions of dollars. I suggest the title: How I Ruined an Entire Country or Shit for Brains: The George W. Bush Story. Here is an exclusive peekaloo at a partial Table of Contents only for Sarcastic Bastard readers.

Chapter 1: I Got Drunk
Chapter 2: I Got Drunk
Chapter 3: I went Too Yail, Got Drunk, and Nearly Flunkt Out
Chapter 4: I Ruint an Oil Company
Chapter 5: How I Fuckt the World's Good Will Away After 9/11

[Can you tell I am still bitter????]