It took me 11 hours to get here and oddly enough — it wasn’t really torturous. I got fucked in DC around 3 and was stuck in traffic in the rain. There was a group of, I don’t know, 10,000 Mexicans protesting something and they really fucked up my alternative route flow. I hope Trump sent them all back to Mexico. That shit really pissed me off.
When I got down to Richmond, I went to Mission BBQ — my favorite place for brisket and green beans. I ate an absurd amount of food and side dishes and didn’t even feel full afterwards. I’m here with my dogs, so I sat outside during a little drizzle eating meat after meat after meat — like an absolute barrel-ass.
While driving to Raleigh the fucking rain started to come down in sheets, so bad I had to put my hazards on and drive like an old man.Truck drivers were flashing their lights into my car, telling me to fuck off and get out of the way. I wanted to kill them.
Then I noticed my car was handling poorly and I felt like I was rolling on Flintstone rocks. I checked the PSI on my tires and they were motherfucking 55. I normally keep them at 35, like any normal human being. I had just took my car out from the shop for a routine oil change and I can only guess that the fucking geniuses in there filled up my tires without actually checking for PSI. I am going to skin them alive when I get back.
It should be noted, I am in a nice suite with a full kitchen and wonderful amenities — dark gray rugs, charcoal couches, white walls, flat teevees, several neatly made beds, and a stainless steel fridge — already stocked with champagne. Tomorrow I intend to make my debut in the south, even though I’ve been here before, donning my cashmere cardigan. The very site of this sweater will shock the southern folk here into a panicked retreat and submission. The idea that someone could cavort amongst them in a sweater of this magnitude and grandeur will assuredly put them into an immediate subordinate position.
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