Tag Archives: meth

When I Get Out of Jail

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Dear Parole Board,

When I get out of jail I’m going to turn my life around. Straighten up. Become an honest man. Be a father to my children. Work to support my family. Spread the good word of my Lord and Savior. No more wheelin’ and dealin’. And I ain’t slinging no more crank to mexicans, that’s for sure.

When I get out of jail I’m going to go by my ex-wife Charleen’s trailer and finish signing those divorce papers. I’ll be the bigger man. I’ll thank her for birthing my children, Dilbert-Lee, Neil Armstronger, and Candy-Sue and tell her I hope she is happy with the new life she has found with Daryl. Heck, I’ll even shake Daryl’s hand and tell him to take good care of her. We are cousins after all. It’s like they say, blood is thicker than water. That being said, if Daryl smarts off I won’t hesitate to give him the old one-two right in the kisser.

When I get out of jail I’m going to swing by the the ole lumber yard and apologize to the bossman. Tell him I was wrong to steal his car keys out of his office and trade crank to a homeless man to have him shit in the trunk. I was wrong. Probably shouldn’t have pissed in the glove compartment either. I’ll tell him I did that shit before I found Christ but now that I am officially a Christian and all, the lord hath forgiven me for all that bullshit. I’ll say “Teddy, I did you wrong but if the good Lord can forgive me, don’t you think you probably should too?” Can’t argue with that. Cold hard Logic. Then I’ll see if he will give me my job back.

Regrets? Sure. I got em. But regrets don’t change things and you can’t take back whatcha done in the past. Unless you’ve got a time machine. But we’re probably 40 or 50 years from them developing a time machine for use on the private market. And even then I’m sure they will have all sorts of rules and shit so that we won’t go back and start messing around with stuff and cause a rift in the space-time continuum resulting in alternate realities, you know. Like that time when old Biff got the almanac and gave it to 50′s Biff and 50′s Biff got lots of money and started porking Marty’s mom and bought her some good looking fake titties. And she was swimming around in that hot tub in Biff’s gold skyscraper and them fake titties were floating around all extra bouyant-like.  Anyways, the point is, without a time machine all you can do is express sorrow, move forward, and try to do better. Try to BE better. Live your life in His image.

When I get out of jail, first thing I’m gonna do is get me a hot meal. Something nice. Something I hadn’t had in quite some time. Maybe Red Lobster. Maybe Quimbie’s. I can’t say. Maybe go down to Ma and Pa’s Burrrito Outlet and make me one with all the fixin’s like I used to when I was knee high to a grasshopper. That’d be something.

But until then, I’ma sit right here in this jail cell, keep praying for forgiveness and await the day that I can spread His Word and don’t have to worry ’bout Cecil spreading My legs and pounding my ass into next week and cumming in my hair.

Sincerely,

Terry P. Dickenson, a servant to the one true God Almighty.

Hostage Crisis

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Dear Officer Policeman!

Hey there, mister. I like your hat. I would like to take this opportunity to first thank you and the other fellows in blue for all the hard work you’re doing keeping our streets safe out there. I haven’t gotten rough housed by gang bangers in a coon’s age. I owe that to you guys. So, now that that’s out of the way…I don’t want to get all awkward or whatever but I feel like there is an elephant in the room.  And I don’t mean the Chief’s dumpy assed, brisket and bread lovin’ wife….No, it’s just that….well, there’s no easy way around this….I’m not too proud to admit that I have trapped everyone inside of this here Outback Steakhouse with a deer rifle, 2 packs of Pop Pop Snappers (you know, those little white tadpoles that make for classic outdoor fun), and a clean bomb. In case you didn’t know, a clean bomb is like a dirty bomb except it is made with hand sanitizer instead of radioactive material.

Just a quick role call of who all is in here before I start Pop Pop Snappin’ up in this motherfucker- we got my waitress, Jenny (suckered me into ordering the seared Ahi Tuna with the Baked Potato Walkabout Soup- no regrets! it’s D-vine), three nuns (the sweetest!), The Davises (it’s Jordan’s birthday and they ordered the Chocolate Thunder from Down Under and the staff sang a traditional Ausie birthday song, hate to tell him but the dessert’s name doesn’t come from when you eat it, it comes from the dookiepie splatter bomb that arrives 30 minutes later), we got Trisha “The Cunter” Hunter and the black dude she is cheating on her husband with (Just so you know, I specified that he was black for descriptive purposes. I’m trying to paint a picture. It’s not like I disapprove of their interracial relationship or anything. That’s fine. No problemo, Senor. There is nothing more beautiful than a well-toned African-American man, with his dark skin glistening in the flickering candle light, his dark mahogony flesh beaded with sweat, the pink palms of his hand around her throat as he rapes a white woman. No, it’s not the interracial thing that bothers me. It’s more the fact that ever since Trisha’s husband went into that coma after that Ski-Doo accident, Trish has been getting on more black cocks than AIDs.) We also have Dan in here, who Jenny and I have nicknamed “Fat Bill Paxton” (but don’t tell him I said that because I know he is self-conscious about his weight. I can tell because he ordered the Queensland Salad and a diet Fanta. I mean, he’s not like FAT fat. I mean sure, he could stand to lose like 50 or 60 lbs, but he’s really just got those classic Paxtonian looks so he still does alright for himself, I mean shit, have you seen Spy Kids 2: Island of Lost Dreams?).

Anywho, I’ve prepared a small list of demands if ya’ll get a free moment.

1. I’ve got like $500 in Blockbuster late fees. Jim Varney is partially to blame for this excessive debt. If they honestly expect people to return movies on time, they should think twice about offering the Ernest series. Ernest Goes to Camp. Ernest in the Army. Ernest Scared Stupid. Ernest Goes to Jail for Cooking Meth. Ernest Goes to Jail for Allegedly Raping a 7-year Old Boy. Ernest Goes to Jail for soliciting his longwanger on Craigslist. He. is. too. funny. The way he always gets himself in those classic goof-ups is priceless. PRICELESS. Although, if you were to attribute a price, it would probably be around $500- which is how much they’re charging me. Do you think there is any way you could possibly take care of that for me? Thanks.

2. I want an upskirt photo of Harriet Tubman while she be doing yard work.

3. Three Snickers Ice Cream Bars and a Citrus Cooler Gatorade. Fucking delish! Snacksville, U.S.A.

4. The third season of According to Jim on Blu-Ray.

5. A Blu-Ray player.

6. Go to my house and shut off my mother’s oxygen tank and make it look like a accident so I can inherit her porcelain doll collection.

7. Snatch up a midget and rip his clothes off. Super glue a bunch of Googly Eyes onto his body and a feed him ecstacy. Wait for me to fall asleep and put him in bed next to me. When he is secure, turn on a flashing disco ball and put on the new Rihanna album. Then get the fuck out.

8. I haven’t been fishing in forever! Do you think this weekend or next we could go up to your lake house and cast in a few lines? I could really use a nice weekend fishing trip to just let down my hair- especially after this little soiree. Do you remember the last time we went to the lake? With Sharon and her European boyfriend? It’s like, uuuuuuugh get circumcised already! Aside from that- SO FUN. Ok, so I am officially excited about this weekend!

Thanks so much for everything. Could you try to get everything done in the next 45 minutes? because the new Real World season premier comes on at 9 and the first episode is really important because that’s when you get to meet the whole cast and see clips of their audition tapes! So cool. If I miss that premier I swear to god I will paint the walls of this Outback Steakhouse red with the blood of the every single one of these fuckers. TTYL.

Concerning Cotton-eye Joe…

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That dude has some serious problems. I’m not one to go talking about people like this, like a gossipy bitch or whatever, but that guy is fuuuuucked up.

He has cotton for eyes. Like in his eye hole.

Forget about his whole oral hygiene problem. That’s peanuts compared to what we’re talking about here. I can call Dr. Fitzhugh right now and we can get him some glow in the dark vampire teeth. Problem solved. But cotton eyes? I. Don’t. THINK. So.

Forget his illiteracy. Reading is pretty hard, I get it. Still trying to make it through the first Harry Potter book myself. Things are getting exciting though, he just got to some weird train station.

Really, it’s the whole cotton-eye thing that I’m worried about. With Joe, I mean. Joey Cottoneyes.

I mean, forget about the meth lab he’s got in the bathroom of his trailer. In his defense, he makes some pretty good shit. And maybe it’s not helping his oral hygiene situation but really, if you think about it, he is just trying to provide a service for his community. Supply and demand. I get it. That’s not his fault. If anything we should give him some slack for being a pawn in the capitalist system. Plus, he makes some really good shit.

And forget about his incestual relationship with his great-grandfather’s corpse. You’d probably do the same in his situation. That situation being- cursed with cotton eyes and having a thicker than average, perfectly trimmed, rhino cock.

And don’t even get me started on this whole “leukemia” kick he’s been on. I mean I get it, but really. Plus, I heard cancer tickles.

You know what, just forget it. It’s not my place to say anything.