Good Evening My Fellow Americans,

There comes a time, in the history of our great nation, when we must stand up for what we know is right, and fight for our beliefs, our freedoms, and our piece of the pie.

I have received a call to arms, and here's howit goes

Suffra(thas me) is sitting in a political science class reading the third book of the Lord Of The Rings on a palm.

Teacher is standing in front of the class, droning on about partisan politics and their effect on the political landscape. tells the students about an internship in Albany, working for the state senate

Suffra gets to the part of the book where Merry is being questioned by the king of gondor

Teacher explains the wonders of working hands on in politics,

Suffra blows a silent one, and stares at the fat(ter) kid next to him in disgust until the blame is placed squarely on Porky's ass

Teacher mentions 5000 dollar salary for a five month internship,

Suffra grabs his books, throws them in the bag, and runs full speed out of the classroom towards the place where the Albany Applications are being handed out, and screams something about his period as an excuse.

The important thing to know about albany senate internships, is that the selection process is completely rigged,
apparently, only people who deserve the thing really get to go.

So, Suffra, the man who once tried to paint a nipple on the planetarium, the man who tried to cut a horses head off of a statue and leave it on the dean's doorstep, the man who told his mother that lies cause cancer on the day of her remission, he basically had no chance....

fortunately
there is a small overlooked, shall we say, loophole in the application process. There is a question, phrased as so:

_BLACK
_HISPANIC
_WHITE
_OTHER ______

three boxes got checked, and I believe the words "Native American" turned up somewhere in this application (guess where)

So anyway, I'm going to Albany,

and I just got home from finding my apartment,
on my trip I learned a few little known facts about Albany,

1. Albany hides an underground secret lair containing governmental buildings, an Arby's, and a place where hats are sold

2. Albany is known for having temperatures below freezing, yet the people still apparently bring up the coldness in startled tones, ie "12 degrees... do you believe it,"
"no shit?" I reply, " I guess I shouldn't have started rubbing my nuts on this lamp post," pointing at my now purple sack,"got any warm water?"



Now, on a related note...

It seems to me, that my lack of inspiration has actually become a recurring theme of my Blogs as of lately, mostly because... of my lack of inspiraiton for my Blogs....
This month's cliffhanger will be if Suffra decides to hang up his guns and retire, or go on a 6 month tard beatin bender....
since jokes about and against people with disabilities seem to always be funny, and seem to always be in short supply, I just simply can't come up with a new and inventive fatally diseased person torture story,

this leads me to little known fact number 3 about Albany...

3) albany is 48 percent male, 52 percent women, and 77 percent retard

thas right, The streets of albany are literally filled all hours of the day, with people walking up and down with their necks cocked, jaws slacked, eyes drawl, chin out, drool dripping, and their pet bunnies loved to death in small brown boxes.

I myself am an intellectual Gulliver in Albany due to my inside knowledge of the workings of elevators (push the button), cameras (push the button), remote controls (push the button) and soap (did you crap your pants?... or should I ask, when did you crap your pants and why have you let such a thing fester?)

Thanks to my black hispanic and Native American background... the stories will keepa comin


you're welcome
have a nice day

Open Letter to my Adoring Public:


Ok, first of all, thank you, seriously, from the bottom of my heart I thank you, but it's going too far. It's like I can't walk onto my campus (over there at the school) without some dickhead screamin, "OH HEY... YOU.. THE UHHH.. blog guy."
Yes, I know, I'm handy with the steel, I have that special knack for blogs, I think I maybe hear the word Prodigy tossed around, but you have to understand that it's killing me.
A day doesn't go by when somebody doesn't come up to me and say
"Oh hey, pretty funny seein you, this'll probably end up in your blog," or "could you beat up my Aunt Milfie?, she's got a pretty bad case of the ass cancer"
Listen, like George Washington (senior) I was dragged into this whole blog business, not of my own accord, but because others felt I was obligated to do so... I only have one goal here.. and one goal only, Hate Mail, piles and piles of pure unadulterated steaming loads of hate mail.. that's it..
and does anybody know how much I've got of it so far?... NONE
and I checked my site counter (click it, it's on the bottom of the page)
I have apparently been visited by members of

A> National Review Online- a conservative republican periodical... no hate mail, HOW CAN I NOT BE ABLE TO PISS OFF A REPUBLICAN?
Jesus MotherFucking Asslicking Cocksucking Christ, getting pissed off is in their god damn platform... and I can't seem to do it

what if I said the only reason Dubya started a war with Iraq is because he wanted to control the world's Cocaine and DUI's?(does that do anything for you conservative bastards?)

B> DISNEY.COM- yes, that's right, Michael Eisner is sitting in a secret lair located somewhere inside a giant mickey mouse statue's ass, reading my Blog, and NOT having the common decency to send me an angry letter...

I mean.. it doesn't even have to be coherent, it just has to really show me that you're angry, that you care.....

The rest of the people visiting the site seem to just be.... well, they're all just me mostly

but FUCKING DISNEY for christ's sake?

So, if you really care about this site... I would start voicing your opiniion if I were you or I'm gonna start writing shit that sounds more like this;

" Today work was really boring.
Yesterday bowling was fun, except Flavio said he likes me better than Garrett. That was a surprise for 2 reasons.
1) Flavio likes EVERYONE less than me. He even likes sweeping than me.

2) I like Garrett better than I like me-and I like me a lot. I mean you can ask anyone at work who they like better me(cherie) or Garrett and they will say Garrett cause he is the shit yo!
I guess I shouldn't take Flavio's opinions to heart-he likes Hope the best. "

... WELL IS THAT THE KINDA SHIT YOU WANT YOU FUCKERS?
It must be, cause I checked that chicks counter, and she got like a billion hits... she probly get's god damn hate mail without trying..

whatever, we'll see how everyone likes it when start just listing the things I ate each day (I'll give you a hint, a hand full of anibiotics and a shitload of fiber)

Fuck you all
Suffra

"well what are you gonna do now?"

"I don't know," I said

"You shoulda listened to dib"

"Yeah, I know dick, I shoulda listened to dib I get it,"

"I mean, did you think you weren't gonna run out of people to beat up?"

"I GET IT... i get it.. ok?" I scratched my arm and looked around my room

"so, what did your mom say?"

"she beat the shit out of me?, I thought I asked you to read that?"

"no, your real mom"

"oh..." I laughed a little, " she... she was upset"

"yeah, but what did she say?"

"she said, something like.. I hope you never get Parkinson's, or something like that, but she said it like, so it meant, I hope you DO get Parkinson's,"

"thas fucked up"

"pshh, uh yeah,"

"so we're just gonna sit here?"

I scratched my ass, "yeah, I guess so,"

"like this?"

"for now anyway"

"well, what do you expect to happen?"

"who knows, something always seems to happen tho,"

"sooooo, get any hate mail yet?"

"nope, still waiting.. either I'm not hitting the right chords, or no one's reading this shit"

"which means yer not hitting the right chords"

"right.. maybe.. you... should.. say something political"

"Fuck Bush"

"that's not political"

"It can be"

"yeah, but I know you, it's not."

"well why don't YOU do something?"

"I could smoke some weed," I said

"yeah man, that'll do ya good, I'm sure everyone wants to listen to what you have to say when you're stoned"

"thursday's suck"

"yup, yup they do"

"So this is what it's like being in one of your stories huh?" my mom said as she searched around my literary room, cleaning up the clutter scattered about the floor and on the coffee table.

"Yup, pretty boring right?"
I replied trailing her around throwing everything she picked up back where it came from,
"Well, what do you do in these stories?"

I thought back to Fidget sailing towards the sky, and poor Stacy, possibly still lying behind a McDonald's counter in a puddle of fish filets, crap, and her own tears.
"I usually just try and be funny?"

"Well who reads them?,"
she asked opening my porno draw which I luckily wrote out the night before,

"I'm not sure anyone does actually, I've been trying to get some hatemail, but it's just not coming,"

"well something better happen soon, or this is gonna get boring."
"yeah I know... something... how you been feeling lately?"

"I've been fine," she replied looking around at the dirt on the literary walls.
I picked up the bamboo stick I left behind my bed, and slid it behind my back, as I walked around my mother, "didn't you go to the doctor recently? What did he say?"

my mother turned to me slowly and replied, "It's nothing major, just a lack of calcium,"
I dropped the bamboo stick to the floor and began to walk away from this dead end story, when she stopped me at the door,

"So how's yer stomach doing?"
"not bad," I said, "It's just an ulcer,"

my mom stepped towards me slowly, straightening up along the way, "I thought it was colitis, isn't that what the Doctor said?"

"well yeah, but he's not sure abou," my mom went to clean up some garbage off the floor, and before I knew it,

she was sailing upwards with the bamboostick in her hand, knocking me upside the jaw and sending me sailing into my wall

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT MAKING FUN OF RETARDS?"

she started slappin me back and forth with the stick, knocking out blood and teeth onto the walls, looking like a modern painting.

She grabbed my bottom jaw and gave it a sharp tug, unhinging it and sending me sailing to the floor, "you see what happens?"

she spit on me straight in face and walked out the door,

"and clean this shit up," she screamed on her way out.

I was just about to drop trough and pinch out another story for my adoring public when I heard a rap tapin on my way in out front.

"You Open Up You Dumb FUCKER!" whoever it was they were pounding hard, sounding like they were comin in to kill me.

"It's open," I screamed huddled over the warm glow of the computer screen, sporting ass crack like a teeny bopper in a pair of hip huggers,

"this can't go on,"
"sup Dib," I sighed slouching back into my chair
"You slapped the shit out of a retard in one of those, I read it,"

I scanned through my more recent posts,
"So I did, so I did," I replied
"AND FIDGET, FIDGET'S DEAD,"
"Well, I mean... I could bring Fidget back again I'm sure... I never really... I mean.. it was vague" I started to scratch the back of my head. and reeled back to look him in the face
"What's the problem?"
"What are you gonna do next?, yer gonna run out of people with
obvious disabilities."

"Wow," I stood up and began to pace back and forth, "shit, I mean..
I guess I could find a medical dictionary,"
"oh yeah man," Dib stopped me short, "big funny short stories about
Diverticulities patients getting punched in the stomach, I can see it now"


"Shit Dib..." I looked at him dead in the face, "how are your parents?"
"still dead," he shot back frankly

"What about the chemo? How's the chemo going?"

"I mean, I have to wear this stupid fuckin wig everyday, and sunlight makes me vomit, but I.."

Dib didn't realize that he was already two feet up in the air, like playing Superman with an eight year old, only this time I was intentionally slamming his head into every wall,

"How YOU FEELIN DIBBY BABY?."
"wouldn't want me to run out of material now would you?"

Dib didn't answer, he just went limp and let vomit trickle down his chin
as I let go, sending him sailing off into a dark corner of the room where he crawled into fetal position,

"my ass is bleeding," Dib coughed up at me,
"not here it ain't, and I flung him over my shoulder and helped him back out the front door,
"what happened," he asked slumped in my doorway like a pathetic creature,

"You got drunk buddy," I replied
"Shit," he said, " I shouldn't be doing that, I'm on chemo ya know?"
"yeah, I heard man, how's that going."

It is my understanding that some of you out there may have been offended by yesterday's Blog, let me assure you that I've got the rest of you in my crosshairs of hate.

When you're a waiter, you learn a lot about people.

People come from all walks of life, some are old, some are young, some are content with the complimentary wine and free salad and soup that comes with a five dollar meal, and some people want to replace the salad with a cup of French onion soup and melted cheese, and you just can't do that asshole because you're an ungrateful bastard, and maybe if you seemed like a nice person I woulda let it slide, but here you walk in like you deserve it, like I owe it to you, like it's not bad enough that I'm your indentured servant.


And you know they're not gonna tip you more than two dollars, even though you had to spend twenty minutes convincing the cook to melt cheese on the fuckers soup, and then go through negotiations with the owner for ten minutes to allow it to happen.

.... and some people dance to the beat of their own drummer, this is called Parkinson's. That's right, that jittery old lady boppin around in her chair doesn't have the music in her soul, she's got a debilitating disease, and my god is it funny.

I'm standing at the bus stop this morning trying to hitch a ride to the mall, so I can transfer out two counties and find a connecting line that leads me a block from my house when one of these sweat old things, I'll call her Fidget, does the salsa up next to me,

"Is this the where 27 stops?" she asked me politely, bobbing her head in a circular motion like a dashboard baseball figurine,

"I think so," I said, and already I'm in the same groove as her, not to mock her, but just so I can keep eye contact.

We wait patiently for a few minutes, and I let her hold my coffee for me, hoping that somewhere in her groove she mixes the sugar better than I had, but then something horrible happens.

A group of rowdy teenagers makes their way up to the platform, no doubt on their way to smoke the reefer behind some government building. They always travel in packs, and spread sorrow and grief wherever they roam. I am aware of that mean streak that is so powerful in teenagers, and I know that they have a way of mocking the oddities of others,

"well, they can't mess with my Fidget," I said to myself eyeballing these rowdy teens all holding their band instruments, and giving their retainers reassuring tugs, "I won't let them make Fidget feel inhuman,"

I see that they've noticed that Fidget is in the groove, and we're mere seconds away from the first Rowdy Teen Comment, I had to do something, and I had to do it quick.

"SHE'S POSSESSED," I screamed at the top of my lungs, picking up Fidget and throwing her sideways into oncoming traffic.

Right before that Mac Truck sent her hurtling skywards she gave me this sort of smile, and nodded her head..

"Don't mention it Fidget... Don't you even mention it," I said

"What is this shit?", I thought,
I must have spent ten minutes there at that point

They say a room full of monkeys, given an infinite amount of time will eventually type out the complete works of William Shakespeare, but if you replace the monkeys with a room full of teenager with varying degrees of Dawn syndrome, and you replace the complete works of Shakespeare with my god damn order, you can see nugget of wisdom shot to shit.

Fifteen minutes gone by now, and I can see the second window now, it's within reach. I can see thee the chubby little minimum wage making girl sticking her arms out to hand the guy in front of me his order, and I see him start to drive away.

He tried to stop short, obviously realizing at that moment that there's no way that a little retarded girl could possibly get his order right, he probably would have been able to back up to the window again in time, but I already saw what was going on and pulled up too quickly .

"Is he alright?" the young girl asked me in that innocent voice that only a tard could pull off,
"He's fine," I snapped,"Where's my order?" I asked in a tone usually reserved for a dog.

The young girl smiled for a second, and took what I can only assume was a crap in her pants, then scampered off to grab my order.

"Here ya go" screamed Stacy (or so her nametag said in crayon) as she threw a bag in my car with a handfull of napkins and placed the soda in my hand.
"Why thank you Stacy," I said giving her a little scratch behind the ears to the delight of her shaking foot.

I almost drove away, but I remembered to check into the bag before skidding away.
"YOU FUCKIN RETARD" I screamed, throwing a happymeal dead center at her face, "WHAT IS THIS SHIT?, BAD"

she must have realized she had done wrong, and dragged away slowly , coming back with her head down.

"Thank you Stacy," I said as condescendingly as possible while taking the new bag.

She went to close the window and walk away
"NO, WAIT, STAY, SIT.... .Ok, STAND BACK UP,S TAY"
I ruffled through the new bag , stopping quickly at the orange paper wrapped sandwich,

Seconds later I was crawling into the drivethru window, already slapping Stacy sideways with a McFish sandwich. Within moments I had her on her back with my knee across her neck slapping her back and forth with the sandwich, accentuating every no with a loud sharp, "BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD"

The mongloid manager began to run towards me, mop in hand
"you stop," I said to him firmly, causing him to stop shortly, drop his mop and once again take what I can only assume to be a crap in his pants.

I felt I had made my point clearly enough, grabbed a few sandwiches out of the hotplate and a couple handfuls of fries, threw them all in a bag, and crawled back out the drive through window and into my car to a standing ovation.