Dear Fatso,
When it’s 105 in the shade and you’re shuffling down my pot-hole-riddled road dressed in that natty orange jumpsuit with a trash bag slung over your shoulder, stay alert. That jerk in the semi who’s doing 90 MPH over the hill while yakking on a cell phone and blaring Toby Keith probably has you to thank for his license. Oh, and watch out for the dead mice in the beer bottles. If the snakes haven’t gotten in there first.
Enjoy!
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