Dear President Obama,
I quit smoking to get my body clean and healthy in order to go out and do drug studies for money. The things I have to do keep me from doing the things I want to do.
I want to smoke cigarettes, but I can’t, because they test for nicotine at the studies. I want to smoke pot with the Mexicans that hang out in my apartment complex, but I can’t, because they test for drugs.
I want to have proper sex inside my lady, but I can’t, because I’m poor. Another baby would only exacerbate our situation.
Society is the wrong business model for poverty. How can I begin look at what the middle class has and think that that is going to work for me Mr President? You don’t even talk about the class under the middle class. I do not live in Summertime.
I have a job at Wal Mart. I’m a wage slave. I go home, and my wife is bitching at me. “How come you don’t make more money,” she asks. “I should’ve nailed your brother when I had the chance when he was buying us shots four months ago.”
Lady Obama talk to you like that? Huh? My kids crying, because I don’t want to go and look at him. “Why are you crying,” I ask, “did you lose your job?…Yeah?…Then drink your beer. It’s a Mickey’s.” I give him Mickey’s, 40 ounces, big green bottle, lovely summertime beverage.
I went in to do a clinical study for diabetes. I don’t have diabetes Mr. President. I only test out the medicine. Before the doctor gives it to me he asks “did you get a chance to look at all the side-effects?” I say “yeah. Normal side-effects, headache, nausea, pain where they insert the needle.”
He looks at me and says “well we did leave one off.” I ask “what’s that?” He responds “cancer.” Cancer…Cancer Mr President…Cancer…Beats working at Wal Mart. I’ve worked there. That place sucks. I was a mechanic there. I was a mechanic in the Air Force also. I was a shitty mechanic. That’s why I’m no longer in the Air Force. That’s why I was helping out your Chinese by working at Wal Mart.
I went in to do a clinical study for Osteoporosis. No serious side-effects. No serious problems. Basically, it was a calcium bomb that exploded in your stomach. I take the pill and rumble, rumble, rumble…rumble, rumble, rumble. I got paid $2800 to hopefully not shit my pants in my public. Rumble, rumble, rumble, “I’m good. I’m good.” Rumble, rumble, rumble, ”I’m good Doc, seriously. Rumble, rumble, “you want your pants back?’
I went in to do a clinical study for schizophrenia. I don’t have schizophrenia. I only test out the medicine. Before the doctor gives it to me he asks “you know when people talk about horse tranquilizers that are strong enough to take down three horses?…well that’s what we’re giving you.”
And it was awesome my Prez. Ooooooh, oooooh, oooooh, fourteen hours of ooooh, oooooh. The problem: pharmaceutical companies didn’t have enough schizophrenics to give their schizophrenia medicine to, so what they did was market it as ADHD medicine and prescribed it to children. Is that part of Lady Obama’s kid initiative or whatever she’s doing? Is beer better than cafeteria pizza? I gave my kid some of that horse medicine.
Me: “How do you like that son?”
Son: “ooooooooooooooh, yeah.”
Me: “Wanna go outside and play?’
Son: “Ooooooooooooooh, noooooooo.”
Me: “Wanna break some of my things then lie about it?”
Son: “Ooooooooooooooh, noooooooo.”
Me: “Know what’ll make this even better.”
Me: “Your beer, drink this. ”
The problem Mr. President is by taking this medicine you gain about ninety pounds in a matter of weeks, and…diabetes. So the ADHD medicine is really schizophrenia medicine. The schizophrenia medicine gives you diabetes, and the diabetes medicine gives you cancer.
I didn’t even have to stop smoking. I could’ve smoked to get cancer, but I was taking pills like an asshole. That’s like giving up sex and catching crabs on the couch. That’s not how it’s supposed to happen. It’s supposed to happen the old fashioned way, the way it happened to grandpa. Now I got cancer and a fat diabetic kid who can’t eat pizza at school anymore. Please help or I’m voting for what’s his face.