He Don’t Give a Watt

I’m back. I know it’s been literally a gazillion years and even a goddamn Star Wars movie has come and gone since I posted my last blog. I became overwhelmed with my side business, house projects, and just the overall “Strug” and vowed to actually work on this blog in 2016. Okay, so it’s been a month into the year and I’m marinading ideas like a big poop just stewing in your guts. One story I was told recently, I just had to share with you, ever so dedicated reader doesn’t even remember who the fuck I am anymore. Well dust your balls off and sit a spell stranger, I have a new tale of my diddy.

My mother told me this tale over the holidays and was shocked I don’t remember any of this.
In the 80s, my dad was not a fan of any thing that took money out of his beer, porn, and tobacco budget. This meant like, food for the children, school clothes, and whatever other unnecessary things came forth.

Apparently there were numerous times when he was frustrated with the power bill, he would take his tools and break into the power meter box on the side of the house. Once he dismantled the lock, he would then turn the meter back several kilowatt hours and re-secure the lock. He did this several times, according to my mother and the power company merely gave him a simple tap on the wrist each time and did not take his ass to jail. He fancied himself smarter than the power company

I should also note, this is the same man that evaded taxes for decades in his business and still carried out his glorious golden years in a roachy trailer, drawing social security and watching Wrestlemania.

Speaking of Wrestlemania, I have some commentary I am working on regarding “Making A Murderer” and how amazing it is that my people are in the limelight. More to come on that topic. Long live the trailer folk!

Diddys Parking Meter

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