Didio’s Weblog

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Boo Feeder decided to take time off the swamp race in DC to take a little ride to the hills of central Pennsylvania. This is what happened:

Saturday morning Anita and I were heading west to take in the magnificent Fall foliage that has spread their glory far and wide this year. The mountains are only a few miles from here so I only put in $10 gas figuring we weren’t going far and we’d be back home in plenty of time to feed Boo The Cat.  Gas prices were finally coming down since the spike caused by Hurricane Harvey’s tirade on the oil refineries in Houston. Gas would be cheaper tomorrow, I’ll fill up after church. Maybe.

We stopped at the Top Of The Hill Inn at the peak of Big Mountain in the Tuscarora Mountain ridge so Anita could take some pics for her Facebook page. While she was pressing her phone like a cat having a panic attack, I asked my phone “ Where is there an auction nearby?”. As a blogger and antiques dealer, I’m always on the hunt for a good story or a better deal on a vintage watch or anything that will pay the bills. Google answered the query in 2.3 seconds with “Hill Top Auction”. I saw that it was starting in one hour and said “Take me to the Hilltop Auction!”. Anita got back in the car totally unaware of where we were about to go.

In less time than the five Harley Davidson’s parked next to us could rumble their way back to life and kick stone dust in the windshield, we were heading down the mountain, points west to an unknown sale that was 42 miles away per Madame Google. I didn’t tell Anita where we were going and figured Certainly! There would be another gas station between here and there. Well……42 miles later we were “at your destination” in the middle of a plowed corn field in the middle of nowhere with no auction house in sight. Covertly, I plugged in the address again but now there was no cell phone service and, of course, No gas Nowhere! Anita was pointing her phone to the clouds trying to upload her photo’s, not paying any attention to the peril we were in.

I tried to backtrack my way to civilization then saw a sign tacked on a hedgeapple tree for Hill Top Auction, Turn Left Here! The trees on the mountain were beautiful but still, no sign of an auction house until around an Ess curve, then Voila! There were pick-up trucks galore and  the sound of a high pitched voice going “tendaya tendya, five! NowOne, NowOne, two! Sold onedolla!” There was no auction house. The sale was on a cleared lot of land at the top of a hill. Just a bunch of every Nascar item you can think of, Rebel flags and deer horns laying on the bare ground with a crowd of people dancing nervously around. The seller, an older man with a white ponytail sticking out the back of his #3 hat had bidders chomping at his heels. The men and women alike all had hair to their shoulders and beards to their bellies. I could have sworn there were few with banjo’s and shotguns strapped to their back but that could have been my imagination taking me back to ‘Deliverance’.

We did stay for a bit as the food smelled SO good and tasted even better. The few people I struck up a conversation with were hospitable and friendly with a tad of apprehension thrown in. New buyers at any auction are met with scrutiny whether at Christie’s in The Big Apple or on the side of a mountain in The Big Nowhere. With the sun setting, I told Anita, who was by now used to my sudden impulses, that we best get down to the flat land to find gas. I should have asked someone there but was afraid of …what I don’t know. No, that’s not true, I do know. It’s pride. It’s a man thing. Never, Never, Never! Ask for directions!

No phone service, no idea which way to go and with no lights of a town to guide us, we left the safety of the Hill Top Auction crowd, such as it was. The gas gauge light came on before getting to any hint of a main road yet we kept going. Mile after mile after hill after valley until Finally! There was an old general store with one gas pump. The girl with a camouflage tee shirt came out in the dark, took one look at me and said “Lost, eh? Get that alot uppin here. Ye jes faller thet there road till you can’t no more then you-ins go left for easterners ‘cause I know y’all ain’t no westerns. Twenty doya?” How did she know? Was I that obvious? Of course I was. I’m an Easterner for crying out loud! Despite the fact that gas was twenty cents more a gallon in ByGod, PA, I told Camo Girl to “Fill ‘er up, hon!”

Thing is, ten dollars worth of gas two hours ago should have had us stranded in the first corn field. That we were able to go another 40 – 50  miles up, down and around the Appalachians is nothing short of a miracle. I never told Anita how dire the situation really was but she knew it. When I saw the gas pump I said “Thank God!”. Then Anita said “Prayer works!”

And it did and it does. And, thank God, it always will!


Written by boofeeder

October 13, 2017 at 1:27 am


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By a stroke of luck, fate, happenstance or whatever you want to call such a chance meeting, Boo Feeder found himself stuck in an elevator with Nancy Pelosi and 2016 losing presidential candidate, Hillary Clinton. Their conversation was, well, read the transcript for yourself:

Warning! Contains offensive, vulgar language.

” Mrs. Pelosi? Mrs. Clinton? What a surprise to find both of you here at the Trump International Hotel! ” I said while boarding the Executive Elevator on the third floor. Unbeknownst to the women, I reached around my back to press the Stop button. Penthouse suite be damned! There were too many questions to ask in just six floors.

” Who the hell are you? ” They said in unison. Then Hillary said ” Oh holy freaking shit. It’s that lowbrow what’s-his-name, Boob Feeler. Hey! What the fuck? Why are we stuck in this piece of shit box? ” Then, again together, they screamed ” I love your box! “. Obviously the ladies had one or eighteen too many at the bar. This will be fun!

” Ladies. it is rumored that you are pooling resources to revise the second amendment. True? False? ” I asked with my back to the button panel.

Pelosi began with ” Revise my hairy, wet ass! That amendment is going DOWN! Who needs guns anyway? Boob Feeler! Love that name. You want to, you know….”

” Boo Feeder ma’am and no, I don’t want to feel you up. Thanks but no thanks. So, you mean to take guns away from all citizens? Everyone, Mrs. Pelosi? ”

Hillary Clinton piped in ” Goddam right Goof Baller! Nobody should have a gun. NOBODY! If there were no guns there would be no goddam gun fucking violence ASSHOLE! ” Then she turned to Mrs. Pelosi who was sucking her fingers and said to her ” Nan baby, it’s going to be okay. We’ll get in our suite and I’ll make everything fine, honey.”

I tried to ask them if they planned on outlawing knives, cars, hammers, tire irons and the like. Not to mention the scalpels of abortion doctors who kill over 200 babies a day but, without warning, the women attacked me with, you guessed it, guns! Both pulled 9mm Glocks out of their purses demanding I get them out of this box so they could get into boxes they both loved and pined for.

Funny thing was, when I let go of the Stop button, the women didn’t get out on the ninth floor. They inserted an Executive Pass key and, hand on hand, pushed the CT button. Now, what do you think they wanted to do in the Clock Tower in DC? This could be bad. Real bad.

Lucky for us all, their visit to the clock tower was not for nefarious means. They just wanted some ” alone time ” as Mrs. Pelosi told me later when I saw her and Mrs. Clinton at the bar sipping out of a bottle of  Drambuie with interlaced wet hands squeezing together tightly. Each had one hand on the bottle on the table and one hand on their pistol under the table. The mystery of why the clock bells struck seventeen times at the stroke of one, was solved!


Written by boofeeder

October 6, 2017 at 4:20 pm


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After a punishing entrance into the locker room of an NFL team, Boo Feeder was able to get an exclusive interview with a knee of one of the players. That was not the original intention as he wanted to talk to a complete person but, after being beaten down by a dozen linemen, a knee that stayed planted on Boo’s face was the best he could do. Once his larynx healed, Boo Feeder phoned in this report:

While under the knee of a player on a team that may remain anonymous, I was able to get in a few questions before the EMT’s rolled me into the back of a beer truck. Unfortunately, despite much begging with my praying hands, the cute paramedic girl would not put a Coor’s Light in the IV line. To the best of my recollection, the interview went pretty good, albeit a bit bizarre, up to the time I heard the crunching of bone. Mine.

” Hi. Could you tell me what it is you are protesting when kneeling during the National Anthem? “

” You putting my name down? What the hell you wrote there Bee Keeper? “

” It’s Boo. Boo Feeder, sir. No, I’m not divulging your name. That’s a promise CJ! ” I said while laying flat on my back holding two thumbs up. Then asked him again what was the message he and many others in the NFL were kneeling for.

” Man, it’s about white … wait, what? What damn bulge you talking Foo Bleeder? Man, you all gone racist up in here! See? That’s what we’re putting our knees down for. Like when your granddaddy cracked his whip on my black slave peoples. And your white police up in North Avenue shooting my brothers over what? A bag of boy? Man y’all supremisses got to STOP! ” he yelled while pressing dangerously close to my demise.

Gasping for a breath, I managed ” Bulge? What the hell are You talking CJ? And by the way, my family has never owned a slave unless you want to count Pamela Arnold, my Very hot babysitter when I was ten, she …..wait, that doesn’t count. As for police shootings, you know there never was a ” Hands up! Don’t shoot! ” when that officer shot a thief that was going for his gun, don’t you? How about the fact that last year 8,000 blacks were killed by other blacks, 200 were killed by police, both black and white, and ninety percent of them were armed with guns.” Whew! That took every breath I had. My eyes were rolling like a pinball being hit by the flippers but I did manage to hear the knee’s reply.

” So what, cracker! Don’t matter none of that. What do matter is  Black Lives and as long as they hand out the cheese, we going to punch a knee in the grass whenever you white slave owning supressmitts keep playing that nasty-ass whitey song. We got the rights to protest bigotry! We demand empathy for our people! We is so oppressed. What?”

At that time another knee came plunging on my neck. This one had a smooth blue suit pants leg on it but compounded with the white and purple knee it was more that I could stand. No more words were leaving nor any air entering. I passed out but somehow heard the two knees talking.

” Yo Roger! This white whipper cracker is turning blue! Said his name is Boob Feeler, he ain’t going to be feeling no more boobies we don’t get up off his lily white ass! “

” Whatever. So you know, George says you guys keep up the kneeling. Said before long he was going to get everything right in this whole damn country. When that new constitution is written, you, me and every person like us is going to rule the country, someday the whole world! By the way CJ, he put an envelope in your locker. One thicker than before!”

” Sweet! Long as George kicks out the green, we take a knee. My man!”

” Oh, he did say one more thing. He needs his grass cut and the pool cleaned. Damn! He didn’t say which lawn or pool. I have a list back in the office. After I call ESPN and tell them what to say, I’ll get that list. “

” Sheeee-it! Georgie got so many cribs! Think one day he’ll let us go swimming in one of his pools? “

That’s when the lights went out and a strange sensation came over me. I was floating inside a  what? Beer truck ambulance? ” Is this a beer truck or an ambulance? Am I having a out of body experience, Lord? ” I said to the white lights.

” No Mr. Feeler, not hardly! Mr. Bisciotti doesn’t like ambo’s on the parking lot. Makes football look dangerous so we camp out in beer trucks. Makes football look like a sport for deep pocket drinkers not poor, penniless cripples, so he says. You’re not having an out of body experience, you are under the influence of a pain medication we gave you. Now just lay back Boob. We’ll have you at Johns Hopkins in a couple minutes. Keep your hands to yourself and they’ll have you up and about soon enough. ” said a disembodied, sweet sounding female voice.

” Boo not Boob and Feeder not Feeler! ” I screamed, or at least tried to. My body was strapped to a stretcher and my hands were curiously bound with duct tape when they rolled me into the ER. It was nearly a week before I could speak any words and it’ll be another week before my hands are unbound. That gives me plenty of time to figure out who this George guy is. If you have any clues, please pass them along.

Until then, I remain Boob Feele …. Dang! Now they have me saying it. I am Boo Feeder, over and out!


Written by boofeeder

September 28, 2017 at 4:01 pm

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What Happened With The Interview With Hillary Clinton

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During an afternoon stroll in the woods near his vacation home in Chappaqua New York, Boo Feeder came upon a figure draped with a black curtain. Fearing for his life and the lives of his family just yards away, Feeder took action to thwart the threat.

” Ah hah! I got you! ” Boo Feeder screamed as he tackled the angel of death to the ground.

” Get off of me you, you, you MAN! ” was heard from inside a black cape that was twisting and turning through a copse of poison ivy. The robe then went flying away to reveal the person, not spirit, inside.

” Hill, Hill, Hillary? Hillary Clinton? What are you doing walking in the woods dressed as the Grim Reaper? By the way, you have poison ivy leaves stuck in your hair “. Feeder said while composing himself to maybe, just maybe tick off a box on his Before-I-Die list and land an interview with the former First Lady. He picked out the poison from Clinton’s hair that was curiously still in perfect shape after the wrestling then asked ” Madam Secretary, would you please give me a few minutes of your time to talk about your book, ‘What Happened’? As a matter of honesty, Feeder then gave up his identity as a freelance reporter.

” Well, well, well. First you accost me then you want to make nice with me? Typical man! ” she said through clenched teeth. ” But, you did get that nasty bush out of my hair so yeah, ask away. This is NOT for public consumption! Whatever we talk about is between me and you only! You got that Beef Eater? “

” It’s Boo Feeder  ma’am. ” He corrected. ” Mrs. Clinton you have my word that this is not for everyone, I’m just curious why you wrote that book and why you feel it necessary to lay blame for your loss ” he lied. Of course he would publish his best “get” of his career. If her bevy of lawyers tried to sue him, he would reiterate Hillary’s husband’s infamous retort of ‘What is, is?’.

” You say it was the Russian’s, James Comey and the misogynistic racists on the right that handed defeat to you as a thief in the night. Do you take any responsibility for letting  Donald Trump beat you like a tired old punching bag in Gold’s Gym? “

” You stupid, stupid wang dangled human piece of ( censored )! That golden haired slob DID NOT BEAT ME! I won the popular vote Boo Jerko! Three freaking million more people wanted ME to turn the White House into a Pink Palace. You got that Freaker? ” Hillary Clinton said while wrapping herself back into the soiled black rag.

” Those three million voters were all in California. Do you believe that one state should speak for the other forty nine? The Electoral College was written to assure the nation that presidential elections were as fair as possible. Do you believe our American system is unfair? Do you want to eliminate the Electoral College? Really? “. Feeder said with a face contorted with disbelief in what he was asking the person that so wanted to be the most powerful person on the planet.

” Electrician College? What a joke! Those damned wire strippers stole my future! I could have been the ruler of the whole ( censored ) world! ME! It was supposed to be ME! I WON but look where I am and where that orange head bastard is. He’s down there in effing Florida making nicey nice with his dirty-ass-immigrant wife and I’m walking in a forest of ugly-ass trees practicing my taraweeh prayers in a dirty black sheet. Jeeze! I HATE that college that isn’t even a college! ” Mrs. Clinton finally had herself wrapped and was about to flip the rest of the cape over her head when she began flailing her hands to her head and ran away screaming like a Banchee ” POISON IVY! Holy shit! Back Fu(censored)ing bastard. You spread poison ivy all over my beautiful face! MEN! OH Allah, or whoever you are down there, strike that MAN off this planet that I, HILLARY DAMN CLINTON, should be the leader of ! “

Stunned beyond words, Boo Feeder submitted this report with no further content. We asked if he wanted to add any afterthoughts to his impromptu interview. All he could say is ” Nah, man. My hands are covered with calamine lotion and I’m a little high from the Prednisone so, no, but thanks anyway “hillary-clinton-laughing.

Written by boofeeder

September 15, 2017 at 4:34 pm

An Interview With Hurricane Harvey

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hurricane-eyeWell out of harm’s way, Boo Feeder met up with Hurricane Harvey in the Kisatchie National Forest in Louisiana. To prepare for this encounter, Feeder met with a descendant of the Kichai tribe, Henry Whispers In The Wind. Henry gave Boo Feeder a crash course in the art of interpreting a hurricane’s swooshes and whirs of the wind into the English language. Whispers In The Wind explained that hurricanes talked  in a language all their own but Hurricane Agnes changed all that. Seems that Agnes was looking for her mother, Gladys, who disappeared after she tangled with Cape Hatteras. Agnes was asking anyone in her path about her mother but nobody understood a swish she said. After that, all subsequent hurricanes became well versed to communicate with anyone, anywhere. Henry said that Floyd was the loudest and most vulgar then Katrina came by to apologize for her older brother. “Some apology!” the Kachai under chief laughed out loud with a smirk hidden in a smile. He warned our reporter to be prepared, Harvey was the fiercest package of wet wind he’d ever talked to.

I’m here with what was once Hurricane Harvey here in the Kisatchie Forest, As soon as this pack of horses meanders by, I hope to get a few words in sideways with the storm.

” Tropical Storm Harvey! Thanks for allowing me a moment in your short life to speak with you.” I said while standing in a pile of horse dung.

” It’s Hurricane Harvey to you, poop-for-brains. The way you people prejudge and amass false allegations Really gets my tail in an uproar. I leave my peeps in Africa then you called me Incest! That Really blew me over! I mean, really? My father was Matthew and my mother was Hermine. Totally unrelated! I was feeling fine when visiting the Yucatan people and was ready to go home to my mommy but that word got louder and louder. It felt like a needle in the eye, you lying bastards! That’s when I decided to fuel up for a week of revenge. Sucking all that water from your Gulf of Mexico made me sick! What do you people put in that water? Tasted like burnt oil! That and playing that word “Incest” over and over, around and around in my head turned me into the monster you asked for. Take that Mister Boom Seeder!” he said while horses stood in front of me kicking up their hoofs as if to mock the wind.

” It’s Boo Feeder” I corrected him.” Incest? What are you winding about? Nobody accused you of being the child of your brother and sister or any other disgusting family connection. You were known as Invest 91L. Invest not incest you old windbag! Invest is what meteorologists call a ‘Investigating Area’ for storms coming to life. ALL hurricanes and tropical depressions are an “Invest” before they’re given a name. ‘Invest’ you swarmy black cloud, Not ‘Incest’! ” A wild horse bitch-slapped me with her tail every time I said ‘incest’, not that I blamed her.

In what could be described as a death rattle, the pines and grasses mixed hundreds of dust devils then a dying Harey groaned ” Invest? Invest not incest? Oh holy mother of wind! What have I done! I am So sorr…..”. With that, the late Invest 91L who grew up to be Hurricane Harvey, blew out his last breath and floated out to the meadows.

As I was riding bareback on a wild horse ( not really! ), my cell phone buzzed my butt. On the other end I could barely make out ” Booze? This here is Irma. Henry Whispers In The Wind gave me your number. I am warning you and all your snobby-ass people: You will pay for calling me Depressed!” Screaming even louder ” I AM NOT DEPRESSED! “.

Oh lord, not another one!

Written by boofeeder

September 2, 2017 at 10:08 pm


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After a long, well deserved vacation, our relentless reporter, Boo Feeder, has come back with a vengeance for the truth. In that respect, Mr. Feeder has submitted this exclusive interview with Robert Lee.

“Hello Mr. Lee. I am grateful for your cooperation to grant this session.”

“Cessation? Boy, I am not in favor of division. Never have been. Division is for sports like baseball, football and such. No sir. Not a fan of cessation. Next question.”

“No sir. We’re not talking about cessation. I was merely saying thank you for this interview. Now, some 152 years since you gave up and cried “Uncle!” to the North, statues and all memorials of you are being removed. Your legacy is that of racism, bigotry and hate. How do you feel about that?”

“Uncle? Uncle, boy! I give up! I done it once, I’ll do it again. Y’all taking down those statues is downright dirty pool, boy. What’s all them pigeons going to do? Drop their loads on the likes of you sonny boy. Buff Eater, that’s what! You take down statues and what’s next? Bird cages? Y’all gone cray cray!”

“Cray cray as in crazy? That’s funny to hear from a man that’s been dead for 147 years! I didn’t know they used that dumb dictum back in your day. What, by the way, do bird cages have to do with racism and discrimination?”

“Dismemberment? What you gonna do, cut off my head? My hands? My dang tongue for God’s sake? You want to destroy history like it never happened why stop with statues? Y’all do know the KKK burnt crosses, right? Why don’t you take them down too? Cray cray, boy! Next thing you know they’re gonna erase the Old Man from history books and Pawn Stars! And you call him a bigot? Why, boy, he wasn’t called The King Of Spades for nothin’! Marble man loved his blackies. Same as I do Buffy. You know I’m married to a black woman, right?”

Flabbergasted, I pulled myself off the floor to finish the fake. “Sir, I  was told by the medium, Miss Gypsy Rose, that you are the Robert E. Lee of Virginia fame she brought back in a seance . Obviously you are not him. Who the hell are you?” I asked him with my nose squarely in his face.

“Saying? What sayings you blabbing about? Boy, my name IS Robert Elliott Lee. That was my wife you talked to, Gypsy Rose. She’s a black woman who took in this hard of hearing old bucket of bones. Now if you don’t mind, I’m taking my Oldsmobile ‘Traveler” back to the projects. It’s suppah time boy!”

Gypsy Rose Lee. Oh Gads! How could I have have been duped by that attractive European, not black, woman? As Mr. Lee got in his Cutlass, I received a call from another of Mrs. Lee’s customers, Benjamin Franklin. He tells me that his monument is being removed in Philadelphia. Seems his initials, BF, is offensive to students at Drexel. They are circling Ben screaming BF Bigot Fascist! Bigot Fascist Down To Ashes!” Oh Lord, Robert Lee is right. The world is Cray Cray.

Written by boofeeder

August 25, 2017 at 4:07 pm


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In an exclusive interview with our Boo Feeder, Nancy Pelosi made some interesting observations that we are still trying to unravel. Read the question and answer session to form you own opinion. She was about to enter the Washington National’s stadium to watch the 108th annual Congressional Baseball Game when Feeder caught her in the elevator.

“Mrs. Pelosi, my name is Boo Feeder. Can I ask you a few questions before the game begins?”

“Feeder? Oh why yes of course! Your name ends in a vowel right? I always feel a special connection to our Italian – American heritage! ” She said while flailing her hands inside the tight space of an elevator.

Amazed that Mrs. Pelosi thinks an “r” is a vowel, Boo Feeder smiled then took advantage of the opportunity and continued the interview with ” Mrs. Pelosi, you called for Donald Trump to be impeached on Monday then one day later after the shooting of Steve Scalise said that you pray for Trump to have a successful presidency. Which one is it ma’am?”

“Young man! Why are we not moving? I pushed that button thingy for the penthouse suite and we haven’t left the first freaking floor!” She swung her arms so hard that her right hand hit Boo Feeder in the nose causing his delicate olfactory to spill blood all over his shirt. ” Hey pie-san you’re going to get blood on my Prada purse! You dumb wop! Get me out of here!” This time it was her left hand that she slung into his eye. “And hey pretty boy. What’s your name? Guido? Guido push that god damned button again. The one that has ML on it. Mi Lacasa! My home! Get me there goom-bah!”

Seeing no point to tell her ML was for the Mezzanine Level not whatever this crazy woman who’s now given him a black eye to match his broken nose, Boo went on ” Do you agree that the hateful, violent actions on the left such as mock beheadings and assassinations have ginned up the more mentally unstable citizens like the man who set out to massacre republicans?”

The elevator stopped then Pelosi stormed out screaming ” Where’s my people? Where the hell is my goddamned aide? Antonio, where are you sweetheart?” she kept yelling to crowds of people who kept clear of a woman who would have been best served with a straight-jacket than a Prada handbag.

Feeder, running after her with one hand squeezing his nose and covering his eye with the other looked just as insane as his prey. Then, lucky for him, someone on Pelosi’s staff swept her into a corporate box where he continued the conversation.

“Mrs. Pelosi, please can you tell me whether you blame the pundits, politicians and media for dividing the USA with acts of violence and what can you do to stop the madness?”

“Here boy, use this napkin on your nose. It’s disgusting!” She handed Feeder a Kotex she’d kept in her purse in remembrance  of happier days then said “Blame? Oh no, I don’t blame my dear friends Ratchet Madcowe, Dan Crathers or Katy Griffing or anybody. We have to get it on! You know what I’m saying pie-sang? How dare they be so sanctimonkeyous! C’mon Boosh, we got’s business to take care of!” She slurred out then rolled her head backwards demanding someone walking by the opened door “Boy! Get me a damned drink! Vodka on the rocks but not the Russian kind. Leave that for Donald Trump. He drinks Russian vodka you know. I think he should..” Pelosi stopped mid sentence to stand up and run out on to the walkway screaming ” Did you hear that? Some guy on the loudspeaker said ” Sherman shot a bullet down first base line!” then screamed “GET OUTA THIS GOD FORSAKING PLACE! The freaking ass tanks are coming for us with weaponage! ”

Boo Feeder let he go, trying to interview a sober Nancy Pelosi was hard enough. Making sense of Pelosi after she’s had one or seven too many was a task only MSNBC would partake in. He went to the nearest Quick Care to have his injuries patched up then drove home breathing through his mouth and negotiating 495 with one eye, a task almost as dangerous as an interview with Nancy Pelosi.


Written by boofeeder

June 16, 2017 at 5:00 pm