Gettin' Out!

Hey Georgia ... spit that crap out of your fat lazy cow tongue talking melon holes and say buh buh, whatever that means, you wordless cracker barrel high falootin' turd stained britches. The last straw between me and the confederate flag wearing peanut stink hee haws "dun git boke" today when I got an Arby's roast beef sandwich that smelled like feet.

I'm packing tonight to hit the road tomorrow which presents another situation - too much applesauce. I don't want to throw it away and I don't think the locals know what it is. TSA won't let me take it on the plane - explosive fruit liquids - and I won't pack it in my luggage for the goons to steal or smear around my already intentionally dirty soiled smelly clothes (my payback, stickin' it to the man). Therefore, I've got applesauce on my mind.

I have a straw, 6 unopened containers and the intent to ingest before morning.