I’m very mad at Hurricane Isaac because it didn’t destroy more of Florida this week.
This oozing herpes sore of a state, this endlessly looping Möbius strip mall, this sun-murdered stucco nightmare, is comprised only of geriatrics on painkillers and retarded gangsta thugs who rob the geriatrics of their painkillers. Why is everyone in pain? Because they live in Florida.
Everything in Florida tastes of roach spray and stinks of cancer. This flat shit-swamp suffers the same transient sort of cultural vacuum as Southern California because nearly everyone was born somewhere else and then made the ill-informed decision to flee there and embark upon an idle life of petty crime and eating one another’s faces. It is rootless and soulless. Florida is Southern California with insects.
“Palmetto bugs,” those giant flying roaches, those repugnant creatures whose very existence proves there is no God, feel perfectly at home in Florida. So does the human insect Casey Anthony and millions of party-retardy sunburned human shitstains.
This woman is proud of Florida, and Florida is proud of this woman:
Oh, did I mention they have oranges? In case I didn’t, yeah, they have oranges. But you can get those anywhere.
Let’s feed Florida back to the gators, one resident at a time.