It’s a drizzly, cold, yucky day here in Irving, Texas….
Here’s what I’m thinking.
You know what one of the main benefits of being lower middle class is, or should I say “upper poverty”?
Not being concerned, in the least, of having my identity stolen.
What about your privacy, you may ask.
I’m an American; I lost my right to true privacy when I got my birth certificate and Social Security number.
I really, really don’t care about it; I have nothing to steal…other than my heart….. ; *
That’s probably the only reason, though.
If I was rich I would most likely hire these same identity thieves to make me richer and live off the sweat and blood of the computer ignorant and down-trodden.
Like I said…I’m an American and a capitalist.
It’s what we do.
If someone wants to steal my identity and feels like they can profit from it, more power to them and good luck.
They will get what they deserve; nothing.
I have no money.
I have no savings.
I have no property. (I don’t count the laptop I’m using as actual property)
I do have debt, however.
Lots and lots of debt.
I live paycheck to paycheck like so many others in this country and the wider world.
Most times I live from day to day; monetarily inept and cash strapped.
Thank God I still have my looks….
Father Time is working on those, as we speak.
If an identity thief wants to steal something of mine, steal my laziness or lack of concern for other people’s drama.
I mean, I do care about people and all that, and I wish that we all had an easier road to hoe.
I just don’t care about their ‘regular’ life problems.
We all have enough to worry about in our own lives, right?
I do not care if you have not found Jesus.
I know, that HE knows, where you are and when he needs you HE will find YOU.
Whether you want him to, or not.
He’s funny that way…
I bet you didn’t know that Jesus was a hippie…
Control freak if you ask me…
I do not care what political party you may belong to.
Wave your flag, spout your bile…then, not vote.
If you really wanna change things; smile and laugh out loud, firm handshakes and hug someone when they need it.
The true way to happiness…?
Be completely, totally and truthfully self-effacing and humble in all things.
I do care if people like me and have a good opinion of me, that’s only natural; but it doesn’t rule my life.
If you like me, good….you are enlightened.
If you don’t, then you don’t know what you’re missing.
If you don’t like me then, join the long and distinguished line of people that can kiss my ass….
Identity thief, please steal my life, I dare ya!
I wanna see what you can do with it.
I’ll wager that you will give it back very soon, because only big boys take the hard road and conquer it.
My life is like an item at a yard sale.
You pick it up; it’s a little worn and looks like it may be useful again someday or maybe even worth more if properly cleaned up and restored.
But there’s no way in hell you’re paying $5 for this!
Identity thief, please steal my laziness.
The longest distance I have ever seen is the 3’ between the table and the kitchen sink.
Dirty dishes are so heavy….and they got food on them and…..tomatoes or carrots or something….
Plus it takes so dang long for the water to get hot….
I am a firm believer in, and I know for a fact, that it has been proven in several scientific tests that dishes must be soaked for at least 8 hours
before being handled by male hands.
The hardest door I’ve ever encountered is attached to something called a “dishwasher”.
I can’t decipher the ancient runes on the knob thingees….
Have you ever noticed that dishes rearrange themselves in a dishwasher?
Yeah, me neither.
I think my wife said that but, I don’t really listen to her when she’s in the kitchen.
It is physically impossible to eat and listen at the same time.
Anyway, I thought only poor people and illegal aliens were dishwashers.
Tell me I’m wrong!!!
Me in potatoic repose…js
The washing machine and dryer; well, that’s what the wife calls them, just stare at me from the doorway of that place called “the laundry room”
I ain’t going in there.
There’s “girl” stuff hanging everywhere…..granny panties….teen-aged daughter thongs….
Wait! What the hell!?
“Laacccyyyyyyy!!!!!! Come hither o child of mine!! Please tell me that these….things….are eye patches!”
Plus, it smells funny in there and that cat shits in a box, sometimes.
Now that I think about it, I didn’t even know we had a cat until recently, I just thought it was a door stop or a rumpled rug or a new throw pillow on the couch.
He’s lazy too, evidently.
The “I only eat albacore” No-Rat killing bastard just assumes that if he shit’s in the piles of clothes that he doesn’t have to bury anything in
that dirty old litter-box.
Hide and reek…
One day I’m gonna whip up a batch of teriyaki sauce and eat that damn cat….
…on a paper plate.
The most focused I have ever been is while staring at a balled up piece of paper on the floor next to the trash can after I missed my basketball shot.
I must have stared at that thing for almost 3 minutes.
“Move” my mind said….
The sweat on my forehead was cold, my eyes burned into the ball of trash.
It was an experiment in telekinesis.
I couldn’t get the paper ball to move using my mind, but I moved my wife from “the laundry room” where she was cussing the cat door stop; she picked
up the scrap, looked at me, shook her head then put it in the can.
She’s a lot bigger than a ball of paper so….
Irrefutable, scientific proof.
Identity thief, please steal my wife.
She makes weird noises when she sleeps.
She can’t reach anything.
She blames me for the dirty potty.
She says I use too much toilet paper “What the hell, you trying to write a book!?”
Cleanliness is Godliness.
She waddles when she walks; people at Walmart stare and take iPhone pictures.…
She wrecks every vehicle she has ever had; not just wrecked…totaled!
She kills plastic plants and beloved pets.
“Here Kitty kitty….”
She likes Dr. Pepper for the love of all that is holy!!!
She can’t figure out HOW IN THE HELL to keep spaghetti noodles from sticking together!
I’m not even gonna say anything about her pork chops, other than the fact that when they are served….
I become devoutly Jewish.
Poof! Oi Vay!!!
She slipped me a mickey and got me drunk before our wedding and the only words the preacher could make out from me was “Yepths” or “Ithe doothe”
The words were obviously from the South Georgia Gaelic dialect for “Help” and “Kill Me” or if the intonation is used in a harsher inflection it means “Meet me out back with your car running”
Southerners are so illiterate….
Okay, I gotta go and do a little work and look like I’m a company man.
Identity thief, please steal my…
Hell, I think I’ll just keep everything like it is if y’all don’t mind.
Low cost and high maintenance….
So, y’all take care and don’t let whitey keep you down.
Love and smooches from your favorite Saltine American….
P.S: Please Donate to the Destitute Treyzguy fund.
Credit cards only….