The Butcher Flings Insults

“What’s that noise?”

“It’s Elvis Costello.”

“I know it’s Elvis Costello. I mean, how am I hearing Elvis Costello?”

“Sarcastro gave me a CD player.”

“We have a CD player.”


“Yeah, that one downstairs under the lawnchairs.”

“But this one has a remote.”

“Well, la-de-da. Why’d he give you a CD player?”

“I think it’s a consolation prize of some sort.”

“Isn’t Sarcastro that old guy who gives you rides?”


“Ha, ha, then I think you got the grand prize, there.”

7 thoughts on “The Butcher Flings Insults

  1. I’ll have you know that we have an MP3 player, which the Butcher stole off the guy who’s forever showing me the firework scar from when he almost blew off his penis.

    I just don’t know how to work it.

  2. Watch, as the new hippies are slowly acclimated to late 20th century technology….

    After they become confident enough to strike the device with a femur, we will slowly introduce the MP3 player…

  3. And, apparently, I have the ability to travel back through time and comment on your comment before you even make it.

    Time travel. Top that, gun-nut.

  4. What do we have for the runners-up, Johnny?

    You got the CD player because I freely choose to associate with you. As such, I can’t have a friend who just sits around playing a drum made from dried foreskins.

    In your little utopia, you got the CD player because I am obligated to help the least fortunate of the society. You didn’t have a CD player, yet you felt you deserved one. Ergo, the more successful members of the society are compelled, by force if necessary, to provide for those unwilling to provide for themselves.

    Or, it has been sitting in a box in my office since christmas, and I wanted to get rid of it.

    Pick the one that sounds more like justice.

    Oh, and by the way, you’re welcome.

    Hippy ingrate.

  5. I said ‘thank you’ and I posted a thank you post. What more do you want? A song? Poetry?

    Dear god, fine, from now on, whenever we’re together, I’ll look down instead of looking you in the eyes, so that you know I know you’re better than me.

  6. Start walking three feet behind me, now that I think about it.

    Or else I’ll post that photo from yesterday.

  7. Please. Where are you going to post that? On your blog? Shoot, that’s barely a threat. It’ll take anyone who gives a shit fourteen days to get it to download, and that’s if they have some kind of ultra-high-speed internet connection, because you post all your photos at such amazingly high dpi.

    And, I believe I walked three feet behind you on Wednesday, as is proper when a young lady is out with her older chaperones.

    You might want to make some new demands on me.

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