Wow, where do I begin? First of all, I pioneered closing deals via the giant cell phone. Closing major deals on a device the size of a small child is F, but taking calls while your son is trying to talk about his feelings is even more F. Hey Zack, try again when you’re not wearing an invisibelt and maybe I’ll stop making major moves on the reg. Notice my suspenders, they’ve got post Reaganomics wealth written all over them. Next time Zack is out acting like a self-absorbed, borderline sociopath, I hope he remembers where he got it from.
I blow shit up. I care more about power tools than my own family. My shit stinks up the bathroom all fucking day. I often communicate by grunting just so people know how manly I am. Tool Time only hires stacked slampieces to assist me in fucking up home repairs on tv. I think my assistant Al is a huge pussy. One of my sons went goth so I gave up on raising him.
Hey, I’m reality television’s favorite alcohol abusing prick with a sketchy anger problem. I flooded a Kardashian cave and now I’m famous. I rock a post grad slick back that says, “Hey, I’ll likely murder you.” I’m pretty much that guy in the chapter that pulls high end ass but everyone knows he’ll do something highly despicable at any moment so they keep their distance.
My life is a constant struggle between closing major propane deals and raising a son who is a borderline vagina. My crew and I post up with a cooler and pound cheap ass beer for no reason. I have a narrow urethra which means I never have to pull out. Yeah, what happens in Peggy stays in Peggy. I fucking hate hippies.
I sit in the living room and booze all fucking day while my wife bakes shit in the kitchen. I constantly berate my hippy son for not living up to my expectations which are exceedingly high since I’m a veteran of 2 wars. When his supergay friends come over and geed up my house, I often threaten to put my foot in their asses. I allow them to smoke their loser grass in my house just so I can ruin their high. Ruining a hippy’s high is FaF.