I was driving into Fountain Hills just as I heard Lewis Black reading my rant about Fountain Hills on his podcast. I’ve got the audio file to prove it.
As a patient, I’ve never got to spend more than about 5 minutes straight with a doctor. Unless I was unconscious and he was cutting something out of my body like my appendix or the soft disc in my lumbar spine. Then maybe I can afford the full hour.
I’m sure you will agree that birthdays are BULLSHIT. You have done nothing to deserve all this. Today, you are just a hairy freeloader forcing a social tax on your friends for food, drinks and gifts. Congratulations — you are now a socialist.
I never thought it would happen to me. Riding on the flat dirt path next to a canal, I got passed — by an even fatter biker.
It was created to solve a problem that didn’t exist, and now the very existence of the Electoral College creates a bigger problem — giving power to losers.
Sure the rooms were $350 a night, and we could only get a room up the stairs with a “street view,” and the restaurants were closed, and no barbecues on the beach, and there was no food or booze service on the beach. But it came with a “free mask.”
Among the Pendejos we have a split decision on whether Shad should be nominated for a bronze medal in Dick Move of the Year 2021.
Like most dangerous things, it started with an innocent and simple suggestion.
The echos of 7th grade math have been reverberating through my house for the past 2 months.
“Ohh Jesus, I can’t see it. Can you?” Sugar Mama asked as she held her phone as far away from her scrunched up face as possible.
Remember when “Up talking” was just for teenage girls and gay men? Those were the fucking days.
For the four people who found this blog through Facebook, you may have noticed a change. No longer is my Facebook page called Kieran’s Bullshit.
Facebook called bullshit on Kieran’s Bullshit.
Since I quit my job in Tucson, I’ve had my fill of fiction.
“I bought this bike, so I could ride it. I don’t want to learn how to fix it.”
Just try to hold your breath when cycling past the dairy farm — I fucking dare you. It can’t be done.
Here’s a message I thought I could stand up and salute… or at least a part of me could.