Every morning I wake up in a hospital to a hearty breakfast consisting of scrambled carton egg yolk, 2% milk, a box of cornflakes, weetabix, V8, and a red delicious apple. After I eat, I retrieve my clothes and depart for the afternoon to catch a cab and head on up to the great city of Fresno, where I then collect trash and feces of any species I can find along the highways and biways, and pack it all into my Louis Vuitton 6 piece travel luggage set. It’s now time for brunch, and I eat my next meal seated comfortably in the coach section of a Boeing 737. For just $133, I get to eat a cold cut deli turkey sub, on a Subway quality honey oat loaf with Swiss, tomato, mayonnaise, and grey poupon. I wash it down with a ginger ale and have some cracker and peanuts for the remainder of the one hour flight. I’m the only passenger who gets served, making my meal all the more delightful. There is no desert but the satisfaction of knowing I am the only one on the plane who gained any caloric value from our journey through the sky together. Upon landing, I collect my luggage and begin my foot trek to the heart of San Fran Cisco, poopoo and peepee in tow. As I make my way to the heart of the city I deposit the mostly human and dog defecate around town, stopping every now and again to shit and cum if I so chose. Usually by now, I’ve worked up quite the appetite, and so I begin to search for scraps of meat and protein to suffice for my late, light lunch. I’m saving up big for dinner. I shed my luggage at this point, along with my clothes, and begin running through the streets buck ass naked. I don’t have a lot of fluids left in me by this point, but I’ve learned all it takes is a little adrenaline to get the piss flowing. It never takes long for the cops to arrive, and next thing you know, I’m in the back of a squad car, milking that sweet SFPD free car ride all the way to the police department proper. Since it’s a ritzy place they usually give me some scrubs or a Johnny gown, unless I managed to get my pee pee on one of the officers, in which case they leave my bare, white ass to shiver on a bench while they take their time processing me. I never carry ID— this part is important— and I don’t cooperate beyond some drooling and farting, so it takes a pretty long time regardless of the fact that I do this every day (protip: select different cities or even states every now and again to spice things up)! Now here’s the kicker folks: this is where I start biting. You’re going to want to wait until they get in close to pull you out of your chair. When the officer leans in to yank you by the cuffs, you lunge forward and bite into her neck as hard as you can. I mean really go in there! Don’t be afraid to pull back either; you’re going to want to make this count. You may be able to get a few more chomps in, and if you’re lucky, you might even be able to take down more than one pig! Either way is fine, because after a few hectic seconds you will either be razed, tackled, maced, or a mixture of the three. Now since I tend to chose San Fran Cisisico for my escapades, the police department is under a strict no kill shelter policy in case they happen to apprehend a malnourished and sleep deprived tech startup entrepreneur who underestimated his acid microdosage, and, moreover, most officers have a few infractions under their belt preventing my immediate murder. So by this point I just wake up strapped to the ole electric chair. Having been sedated my entire trial for the murder of four cops, I have worked up quite the appetite! Thank the Lord Above for Due Process; my right to a speedy and fair trial means that I get to express lane through death row! And that it’s time for dinner. We’ve saved the best for last folks, and as they say, the best things in life are? You guessed it...FREE! My usual choice features a repeat from the beginning of our journey: eggs! Scrambled eggs with jalapeno peppers, and a strawberry milkshake. The last meal of the condemned. With all that delicious, free food sitting fat in my belly, the executioner pulls the switch!
And what follows is what I can only describe as the best eight hours of my life! I wake up refreshed and fit as a fiddle, cozy in my little gurney, tucked up with paper blankets and some no slip grip socks. With a yawn I smacks my pink lips and open my eyes to a delicious breakfast consisting of scrambled carton egg yolk, 2% milk, a box of cornflakes, weetabix, V8, and a red delicious apple. After I eat, I retrieve my clothes and depart for the afternoon to catch a cab and head on up to the great city of Fresno, where I then collect trash and feces of any species I can find along the highways and biways, and pack it all into my Louis Vuitton 6 piece travel luggage set. It’s now time for brunch, and I eat my next meal seated comfortably in the coach section of a Boeing 737. For just $133, I get to eat a cold cut deli turkey sub, on a Subway quality honey oat loaf with Swiss, tomato, mayonnaise, and grey poupon. I wash it down with a ginger ale and have some cracker and peanuts for the remainder of the one hour flight. I’m the only passenger who gets served, making my meal all the more delightful. There is no desert but the satisfaction of knowing I am the only one on the plane who gained any caloric value from our journey through the sky together. Upon landing, I collect my luggage and begin my foot trek to the heart of San Fran Cisco, poopoo and peepee in tow. As I make my way to the heart of the city I deposit the mostly human and dog defecate around town, stopping every now and again to shit and cum if I so chose. Usually by now, I’ve worked up quite the appetite, and so I begin to search for scraps of meat and protein to suffice for my late, light lunch. I’m saving up big for dinner. I shed my luggage at this point, along with my clothes, and begin running through the streets buck ass naked. I don’t have a lot of fluids left in me by this point, but I’ve learned all it takes is a little adrenaline to get the piss flowing. It never takes long for the cops to arrive, and next thing you know, I’m in the back of a squad car, milking that sweet SFPD free car ride all the way to the police department proper. Since it’s a ritzy place they usually give me some scrubs or a Johnny gown, unless I managed to get my pee pee on one of the officers, in which case they leave my bare, white ass to shiver on a bench while they take their time processing me. I never carry ID— this part is important— and I don’t cooperate beyond some drooling and farting, so it takes a pretty long time regardless of the fact that I do this every day (protip: select different cities or even states every now and again to spice things up)! Now here’s the kicker folks: this is where I start biting. You’re going to want to wait until they get in close to pull you out of your chair. When the officer leans in to yank you by the cuffs, you lunge forward and bite into her neck as hard as you can. I mean really go in there! Don’t be afraid to pull back either; you’re going to want to make this count. You may be able to get a few more chomps in, and if you’re lucky, you might even be able to take down more than one pig! Either way is fine, because after a few hectic seconds you will either be razed, tackled, maced, or a mixture of the three. Now since I tend to chose San Fran Cisisico for my escapades, the police department is under a strict no kill shelter policy in case they happen to apprehend a malnourished and sleep deprived tech startup entrepreneur who underestimated his acid microdosage, and, moreover, most officers have a few infractions under their belt preventing my immediate murder. So by this point I just wake up strapped to the ole electric chair. Having been sedated my entire trial for the murder of four cops, I have worked up quite the appetite! Thank the Lord Above for Due Process; my right to a speedy and fair trial means that I get to express
