BREAKING NEWS: ROGER STONE IS SLATED TO BE THE GRAND MARSHALL OF THE OBA LABOR DAY TRUMP PARADE

"I'm gonna make those dirty bastards pay for jumping me at that last Trump Flotilla! Especially that fat son of a bitch wearing the "Get cornholed by Jesus shirt! Sooner or later. It's gonna be payback time."

- Hot Karl Zimmler

Hot Karl Zimmler

The local MAGA security force Captain who is suspected in the total asskickings of Hot Karl Zimmler and Luther "Scoop" Heggs.

"He's gonna wish he had never fucked with the likes of me and Hot Karl," mumbled Luther "Scoop" Heggs, who was already so shitfaced he could hardly sit up in his beach chair, "Fucking Bible thumper."

"He didn't thump your ass with a Bible, Scoop. If I recall he thumped it with Mary Trump's book."

Hot Karl, Scoop, and myself were sitting way out on Johnson Beach so no tourist could spy us drinking gin & tonics and smoking big chunks of Black Hash in a tobacco pipe. Karl looked pretty much like he always did. Luther though, still looked like a gorilla had jumped out of a dumpster and beat the shit out of him!

Local artist rendition of Luther before getting the crap pounded out of him.

 

And after (simulated).

"What scheme have you two asswipes got cooking now?"

Luther suddenly bolted to his feet and made a mad dash to the sand dunes.

"We're going to raise some hell for that Trump Boat parade on Labor Day and get some payback on these motherfuckers." I could hardly hear him over the sounds of Luther puking up his gin & tonics and whatever combination of booze and narcotics he had sucked down last night. It sounded like he was barfing up his toenails.

"Wait a second? Those Lysol sniffers are holding another one of the damn things? With Florida being one of the hardest hit states for the Corona virus?"

"Hell yes! Half the country has shit for brains and in Florida about three-quarters. The dumb fucks are sending their kids back to school in a few weeks if you need an example. But we're planning on something bigly as the fascist who has his gigantic ass parked in the White House likes to say. Something that will hit the national news, go fucking viral, Goat!"

Luther staggered back from the dunes and sat down in his chair and fired up a heater and poured a glass of hair of the dog. He smelled like a vomit factory!

Karl dug around in Luther's backpack and pulled out Scoop's mini-recorder and handed it to me. "You better wipe that fucking tape recorder down with Everclear before I touch it."

Karl poured some gin over the recorder and wiped it down with his grimy t-shirt. He hit play and handed it to me. I held it between two fingers like it was packed with C-4.

"I was hearing rumors about something big happening at this Trump Parade and I still have the taps running so I listened into a conversation with the Commissar and some higher up in the Land of the Great and Powerful Trump."

"Sound intriguing." The heat and the sight and smell of Scoop were making me queasy so I took the recorder and walked down to the surf.

🕭🕭🕭🕭 Phone ringing. "Sir, Commissar speaking, Sir!"

"My first question, Mr. Potato Head, is what the hell are you doing down there in the mosquito infested hellhole hovel that you call home? Working on your jug blowing?"

"Sir, I was preparing my daily briefing to my constituents. I have a very large following who depend upon my leadership."

"I saw it already. When are you going to stop this whiny "I'm a Libertarian" shit? Just admit you follow the marching orders of DeSantis who gets his orders from his White House Holiness. DeSantis, who by the way, better quit acting like a retard in front of the press if he knows what's good for him...

...and you need to quit putting out this drivel that no one believes anyway. Who the fuck do you think you are, Bill Nye - The Science Guy? Get your shit together! And quit quoting Fox News!"

"Sir, what seems to be the problem, Sir?"

"Quit calling me Sir. I'm not in the goddamn Navy. Call me Mr. Barr... 

...and the reason I'm calling is you were given one task and one task only and it appears you're shitting the bed on that one simple task."

"Do you mean the left turn lane controversy at the Galvez Boat ramp?" 

"What? Jesus Christ on roller skates! And I thought DeSantis was challenged. No, dumbass! Stone! You were so supposed to keep him secluded and under wraps. He's running around Perdido Key like he's Mick Jagger...who I think should be deported. Him and that goddamn Tom Petty and Neil Young. I'm getting all sorts of fucking reports about that freak parading around down there like he's the lovechild of Liberace and J. Edgar Hoover."

"I'll admit, Mr. Barr, he can be quite the rascal but I assure you everything here is shipshape! My adjutant has everything squared away."

"No, not everything is shipshape, Mr. Roberts! What about that dipshit giving that interview? That went over like a wet bean and beer shart in church!"

"On me, totally, Mr. B. I didn...."

"What in the name of hell did you call me, you backwoods turd!" He shrieked!

"I meant Mr. Barr, Sir! And Roger somehow got his hands on a phone and gave that interview without my knowledge. His personal phone was confiscated before they dropped him off here."

You could hear Barr whispering and muttering to someone in the background...the word "loser" was heavily peppered throughout the conversation.

"Mr. Barr?"

"Now you listen to me and I don't want to hear another word out of your cock holster. The Man himself wants the The Man of La Mancha to be the Grand Marshall of the Labor Day Trump Parade and it's your job to keep his scrawny naked ass under wraps until then. Do not, I repeat, do not fuck this up! Expect a package from Trump's brain dead...

...daughter for the raffle in two days. The Prez is going to "autograph" it himself and wants to Stone to present it!"

CLICK👌

"And your master plan being what?" I was sweaty, hot, stoned,and drunk and I was craving a air conditioned bar with a kindly waitress sporting big jugs and cold draft beers, so I started packing up. A little of Karl and Luther can go a long way, especially on a hot day. The combination was like the smell of a dumpster behind a strip club!

Karl looked over at Luther who was passed out cold. His head hanging all the way back and a string of thick drool ran from his mouth to the sand. He was drunk as two longshoreman and it was barely noon.

"I've got tracers set up with all major delivery services. I'll know when that package gets in the area. I'm going to steal that dildo and hold it fucking hostage. Those MAGAs want it back, they're gonna pay big dineros. I'm going to get all the major press involved."

"And when you get out of of Leavenworth you"ll have an asshole as big as a silver dollar unless they pull an Epstein on you."

Дерьмо в твоей шляпе SWG сатира

WHO'S BEHIND THE ASS KICKING OF HOT KARL ON PERIDO KEY?

"I've gotten the shit beaten out of me two fucking times in less than 36 hours."

"And you look it." 

I was drinking beer with Hot Karl Zimmler, a well know local drunk, addict, and social deviant...on a strip of sand on the Inter-coastal waterway side of Perdido Key that was behind a big strip of deserted scrub brush. He obviously did not want to be seen.  

Two black eyes, swollen red nose but probably not broken, both lips busted to shit, and a jagged cut under his left eye. Hot Karl definitely had gotten his ass handed to him.

Karl was one strange dude. He dressed like a beach vagabond from the 70s (which he was), was completely covered in tattoos, was so tan his age was hard to pinpoint, long eel-like dreadlocks, lived in a garage apartment over on Innerarity Point, and was an absolute wizard with computers and the Web.

This is just simulation of what Hot Karl "might" have looked like back in the 70s. Pictured is Matthew McConaughey, who by no means resembles Hot Karl in any way.

This is really a more accurate photo of what Hot Karl looks like in 2020:

⮟⮟⮟

I had no idea where he got it or how he made it but Hot Karl always had mad stacks of cash on him. And you could shove a cattle prod up his ass and I goddamn guarantee you he wouldn't talk.

Way off in the distance boats for the great Trump Bleach Drinkers Boat parade were seemingly just driving around in circles, burning fuel, hitting dolphins with their props, drinking generic beer, and polluting the environment.

Earlier in the day, The Man himself, The Commissar of Perdido Key had personally given his blessing ☠ to the fleet:

You heard him! There will be no commies in Escambia County!

Word on the street is THE MAN was pulling his Admiral's uniform out moth balls he was so excited about the Parade.

🠟🠟🠟

 

Nothing gets a MAGA lady going more than a man in uniform!🎖🎖🎖

I popped open another Pacifico. "Don't keep me in suspense."

"I was one of the guys that did it!"

"Did what"

"Kicked that dipshit clerk in the balls, zip tied his whiny ass to the pump, and put up the sign everybody was talking about yesterday. The one you wrote the article about."

"Very cool move, Hot Karl! Fucking with The Man!"

"It wasn't so goddamn cool when this giant redneck pulled up in a white SUV with some government logo on the side and beat the piss out of me, literally, in the Publix parking lot, asshole!"

Unverified security camera photo

"Sorry," I muttered.

"And I had spent the week printing these posters and I was going to sell them over in Orange Beach to the protesters at that dipshit Trump boat what have you," he waved dismissively out at the flotilla. "First asshole I showed one to said no and then sucker punched me when I was walking away."

🠟🠟🠟

"Protesters? In Orange Beach, Alabama. What in the name of hell were you thinking?"

"Fuck, Goat! I don't what the hell I was thinking."

I fired up some Afghan Black and handed him the pipe.

"Don't fell bad, Hot Karl. Neither do they"

 

Mahalo

viễn tưởng

WILL COVID-19 SHUT DOWN THE GREAT TRUMP "FREEDOM" BOAT PARADE ON JULY/5/2020

Three sheets to the wind or just plain shitfaced would be the way to describe my condition when I wandered into the the Lost Key Beach Club to have lunch with the Captain at precisely "1200 hours, shitbird," as the Captain had barked into the phone yesterday morning.

I had been partying with Winnebago Wallace and instead of a "beer and a joint" goodbye it had turned into two cases of brew and half an ounce of Cambodian Red. I was still blotto and passed out when Wally fired up the Winnebago and told me to get my ass out of his RV - he had rubber to burn and miles to go.

I had staggered out of his RV and walked up to my condo and immediately started hitting the hair of the dog that bit me. Grey Goose screwdrivers and black Afghan Hash. I was well into my third drink when the Captain had rang and ordered me to lunch. Slamming down the screwdriver - I shit, showered, and shaved and headed for the "Club" as the Captain referred to it. 

The Captain was in his usual attire...pink Nike golf shirt, tan shorts, loafers with no socks, and his noggin was topped off with a jaunty Captain's hat. He's so tan that his skin looks like an old leather shoe left out in the Florida sun for a year or so.

I sat down and ordered a chicken salad sandwich and a double screwdriver...hoping to hell that I wouldn't regurgitate the sandwich. I had just enough time to light a smoke and take a pull off my Russian potato whiskey when the Captain started in.

"Boy, you look like shit!"

"Thanks, Captain." I don't know if he was really a Navy Captain, Merchant Marine, or what - because he never told me. But he had major pull in the Florida Panhandle and visited NAS Pensacola and Corry Station frequently when the government held certain kinds of "seminars. He was some kind of government spook. I just left it at that.

He definitely knew who I was though the minute I driven onto the Key from Mexico. Within days he had sat down next to me at the Jellyfish while I was pulling a cork and had warned me to watch myself and that there was a good chance that I might bump into someone who I had dealings with years ago.

He had slammed his shot of Jack and walked out the door without another word. Then surprisingly, within a month I was a frequent invite to have lunch at the Club or go deep sea fishing on his boat he kept moored down at Harbor Marina. I think he missed the life and enjoyed my stories of running security for the Cartel biker gang before things got real ugly.

And he often called when he had some info to pass on.

"Who were you drinking with?"

"Winnebago Wallace. He's heading for Wyoming to escape the virus."

He snorted. "That fucking vagabond? I certainly hoped you deloused yourself before you headed over."

Gulping down the screwdriver, I signaled for an encore.

He leaned over the table and whispered even though there wasn't hardly a soul in the place.

"I went to Cheetah's last night. Got a lap dance and she was so goddamn hot I shot my wad in my pants."

"You invited me here to tell me about that?"

"Sure! You wouldn't believe how hot she was. But I had something else to let you in on. You know that little blog you've been writing? Well I was at this meeting and I overheard that the Commissar of Perdido Key wants to find out who you are."

"The Commissar can go shit in his hat for all I care."

"Never the less. He's crapping in his skivvies about Escambia spiking when he said the virus was no worse than the flu. Then the bars closed and now he's worried about the beaches shutting down and the Trump Boat Parade getting canceled."

"Must be tough living in the Sanctuary on River Road. What was that last thing? A Trump Parade?"

"There's this idiotic Trump Boat Parade a group of brain dead locals are putting on the day after the 4th and the Commissar thinks that will be a huuuggge morale booster around here and he doesn't want COVID-19 shutting it down. Or anyone giving it a bad look or calling attention to it because of the pandemic.....such as yourself."

"What the shit is the whole purpose behind this Rally?"

"Really it's just a bunch of right wing dipshits drinking Budweiser and flying Trump flags driving around in the ship channel acting like Stepford Wives on meth and Busch."

 

🠝🠝🠝

"But they've become a big propaganda tool for Trump. They don't cost him a thing. The bleach drinkers call them Trumptillas! And there will be Trump souvenir vendors all over the fucking place. Marinas...beach bars...and that means cash. And palms that want to be greased. So you might want to back off for a while." He leaned back with his palms up, "But I really don't give a shit. You do whatever you want."

"Sure, Captain. No problem."

THERE'S GOING TO BE MORE THAN BULLSHIT SHIRTS AND MAGA HATS AT THIS SHINDIG

🠟🠟🠟

 

 

BUT THEN AGAIN, MAYBE NOT, BECAUSE SOMEONE IN CHARGE MAY HAVE TO GROW SOME BALLS!

Mahalo

fiksie

COME TO FLORIDA FOR FUN IN THE SUN AND STAY FOR THE VENTILATOR

Shot at and missed...Shit on and hit! 

You can't find a better description of how I felt the morning after partying down with Miss Flipper. Take it from me - pitchers of garbage draft beer, Afghan black hash, and LSD do not make for a pleasant hangover!

I spent the next day drinking Gatorade, barfing up Gatorade, smoking Thai stick, sleeping, and having flashback nightmares. By Tuesday morning I was feeling like I could safely drive a vehicle. Walking down to the parking garage I was stunned to see that my vintage 'Vette was still in one piece. Not a scratch on it. So I headed up to Publix to pick up some groceries and a couple of bottles of Grey Goose.

I drove down River Road and there they were. It looked like six long lines of coke had been cut on the road except they were the trenches burrowed into it from my .357 magnum. I guess I didn't hallucinate that.

I pulled on my mask and walked into the stores. It was a fucking nightmare! The place was jammed packed with families of biscuit eating tourists and not a one of those dipshits had a mask on. One redneck tried to give me shit about wearing a mask but backed the fuck off real quick when I pulled up my shirt and he saw my .38 snubnose. 

"Anytime you want to get squirrelly, fat boy, you just jump!"

He answered by dropping his six assorted flavored bags of Doritos and tore off to find his inbred family.

Now I like Publix. Great deli. Good beer selection. Great selection of foods. And it is MILF Island! Rich divorced beach babes. Hot as hell and enough dough in the bank to keep looking that hot for another decade or so.

But by now I wanted to just grab my provisions and bug the hell out of there.

As I sat in the parking, taking a short pull of a Grey Goose, I suddenly realized that with all the non-stop coverage of the George Floyd riots, that Trump and his cronies had convinced their brain dead minions that the Covid-19 pandemic was over. 

The Florida morons seemed to have really drank the Kool-Aid with this clown De Santis running the state and the local officials seemingly just wandering about with their thumbs up their asses.

Big Doug Underhill, the Commissar of Perdido Key, and some kind of local politician has a Facebook page where he likes to post his propaganda and delete anyone who tries to post on it unless you are one of the chosen. Here, on 6/1/2020 he says all is good. Get the hell back to work and let's get this ball rolling.

 

6/5/2020 

More of the same bullshit just worded differently.

Well, spank my ass and call me Charlie! About a two weeks after the Memorial Day invasion, the numbers are spiking. What in the shit is that all about? Probably just nursing homes and prisons. Nothing to get your panties in a twist about. 

↑↑↑

There's no Facebook entry from the Commissar about this jump in numbers but I think if he had posted - it would have been something like this.

Suddenly, out of the blue, Florida seems to have shit the bed. Record numbers as Florida spikes!

Doug has traffic issues to worry about!

Aloha

THE WEED WITH ROOTS IN HELL IN PENSACOLA AND PERDIDO KEY

You tourists that like to enjoy cannabis may want to pack your own stash before heading for Pensacola or Perdidio Key.

Why, you ask?

Here's two reasons:

I was hanging out yesterday,  sitting on a busted up park bench on River Road in Perdido Key getting wood slivers jammed in my ass - minding my own business -when this jug blowing, whittling, inbred, mouth breathing, IHOP monkey walks up to me and says "Hey Man, do you know where I can score some weed?"

This is about eleven in the morning and I have no fucking idea what swamp this yahoo crawled out of. He's already shitfaced, no shirt, surfer shorts (like this troll could even swim much less surf), and has some white supremacy tattoos on his blubbery white body. And his face is all busted up from when somebody must have kicked his ass recently.

For all I know this guy is an escapee from some local insane asylum.

"I sure don't," I responded, "I haven't smoked weed in years."

Which was total bullshit. I'm high fucking constantly but I score my cannabis from much higher sources...if you catch my drift. Or am I being obtuse?

I've smoked Colombian Gold, Maui Wowie, Mango, Thai Stick, Panama Red, Acapulco Gold, White Widow, Bruce Banner, OG Kush....this list goes on forever and a majority of it was smoked at the original source where the mother plants grew.

All I smoke now is Black Afghan Hash.  The first time I smoked this magic was in a hut with an Afghan opium grower and his son. The hash was cut in round discs and  was coated with almond butter almost like how Gouda cheese is packaged. 

It gave me this feeling that I was wearing a ball cap that was two sizes too small and gave such a beautiful feeling of calm and crystal clarity. It's only downfall was I had this florescent blue dot directly in the middle of my vision which stayed there the whole night we partied. Like a laser scope.

And this drunk ass redneck wants to know where I can score some weed! In this redneck county!

The two times I smoked weed from a dealer here it was like smoking shit from back in the late 60s that you'd wash down with a Schlitz Malt Liquor. Mexican Brick Weed squeezed into kilos with Sears trash compactors. 

Funky smell, shit taste, and a high that ends with a headache.

I got up and started to walk away. "Sorry, but it's dry around here. COVID-19 pretty much drained the market. Head over to Pensacola Beach but you'll pay tourist prices for ditch weed."

"Fuck you! Fucking smartass!" he shrieked.

I had the urge to slip on my brass knuckles that I always carry and go back and knock everyone of his remaining rotting teeth down his throat but there's no reason. He'll either be dead, in prison, or in that nuthouse in six months.

For some reason that thought filled me with happiness!

Aloha