I Don't Give A Damn... it's Fry Day

Hey my peeps, missed me?  What me care?  Babs had a slight crack up, a bit of a melt down this  week.  The vow to write with one pulse words drove me to the brink--to the shrink. Dose fixed.  I had morphed in to the nice, sweet Babs (out of my mind).  That will sho nuff make you sick.

But I'm back, all jacked up,  and as mean as hell, or as the old man used to say-- dirt mean.
 

This week props go to this man:

He rocks our world. I love him to the core of my cold, cold heart. This man, our Prez, does so damn much for us-- like get out of bed each day and slug it out with a bunch of old, white men who work for the banks and the A I G's of this world...

...the Dicks of this world-- their one goal it is to see our great man fail. 

How does the Prez take so much shit and still remain cool, calm, and chill?  This week he fessed up to a bad thing-- dude needs to get his smoke on once in a while.  

Christ, folks, cut my man some slack.  I'm sure he's got to sneak out of the House of White and freeze his ass off, hide from the press, and have his smoke.  Save your angst for the Sea Worlds of this world and let the great one do his job. Let him get his head on straight, sans guilt, once in a while.