NO FATTY THIGHS!

To the very great disappointment of the stuffed turkey vulture loudly vocalizing in the other room, I did not bring back any fatty inner thighs from work in Marin. Indeed, I would not have minded sacrificing one (or more) of the old rightwing bastards, but we do not have a tarp at work, and a bled-out corpse on the premises would have prompted questions. Saying that he just spontaneously exploded from all the pent-up bigoted bile and de-thighed himself in the process wouldn't work. So no.

Sorry, little dude. There are no fatty inner thighs.
And don't even think of coming to work.
We aren't licensed for carrion.


Yeah officer, his inner thighs flew of and that ripped his femoral arteries.
Just like that! Perhaps an alien tractor beam malfunctioned.
It couldn't have happened to a nicer man.
We have none of those here.


Actually, we often do. The neurosurgeon was in early today, but left before noon, having done what he needed and wanting to clear out before the crypto Nazis and the Jewish Democrat in name only arrived. Two hours of bitch-wife inspired ranting.
There's a lot of that in some Marin social circles.

Maybe wives in Marin have fatty inner thighs, possibly clenched in their taloned grips. It would by no means surprise me if some of those psychotic suburban women intend to harvest the still warn corpses for spare parts to sell on the black market.
There's one in every gated community.

Sharks, wasps, piranhas.
Soccer moms.


One Punjabi was in, an intelligent one, as well as an engineering student.
Also the cancer researcher whose medicine got approved.
So yes, there were nicer men there.
No tractor beams.



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