Bad Night

    I justed got jumped, for a cigarette.  As an important travel tip: don’t visit Glassboro.  Appartently in this neighborhood of tobacco desparate guidos, a half pack of Camel filters is a noble cause to kick a man in the head. 

    I called the police as soon as I was sure the craven assholes had abandoned a view of me.  The Glassboro Police did a great job: after eight minutes of giving the operator directions the cops showed up in six. 

    The Po’s had me give them a description of the stalk, scramble and beating gifted to me. 

    They called an ambulance whose sole purpose was to  provide me icepacks. 

    I was then driven home by a serviceful officer, and now I’m headed outside to enjoy, along with an icy Bud Light, the single tasty boegie I was able to recover from my savage assault.  

    May the Universe betray you beasted, guilted, dumbtopped dullards; and may those sticks provide you the deservedly agonizing death with which you prescribed yourselves.