Friday, June 16, 2006

QOD: Choose your final meal on Death Row.

What give a body any right to go whackin’ me? I din’ do nuthin’ man. This be one helluva dis’pointmint on me, so I be givin’ the gov’mint some dis’pointmint of they own. Gimme a nice peanut butter samwich, mebbe some crab jam, plus a dose a penticeilin.’ I be keelin’ over and dyin’ ‘fore they kin say boo. Serve ‘em right, that. My kid’ll sue they ass on wrongful death in custidy. Git hisself a billion bucks. All I gotta do now is git rid a all them epi-pens. Done writ up one a them do not rescustipate papers, but I ain’t trustin’ ‘em. Ain’t nobody in here worth one bit a trust er half a damn. Y’all kin trust me on that. ‘Sides, I ain’t did nothin,’ like I said afore. Leastwise, warn’t my fault.

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