I got this email from a friend and I thought I would share it with you.

Hey Mike,

What a morning I had! I started my day with a hearty bowl of bio-engineered, genetically altered, corn flakes. Then I headed out to run some errands; that is where my adventure began. Leaving the tanning place, I was talking on my cell phone while speeding through a school zone when it dawned on me that my cross burning, Klan buddies drank all my beer during last night's spotted owl hunt. I pull my SUV into the liquor store parking lot and park in the closest handicap parking space. I get out of the gas-guzzling, compact-car-crushing house on wheels and notice that I have parked on top of a tree hugging "Save the Ozone" protester and there is a "Save the Whales" wacko wedged between my naked-woman-silhouette-adorned mud flap and the fender well.

Realizing that these clowns probably cannot afford medical insurance I hesitated to call for help. Even if I had called an ambulance, I knew the delay would cause me to miss the cash-and-carry, no wait, gun show down at the convention center. So, I took the unregistered automatic, military-style assault pistol with the oversize clip chocked full of cop killer bullets from behind the box of chewing tobacco in my glove box and prepared to euthanaize the two vegetarian, hippie pinko, Gen X slackers, that are bleeding on my alligator shoes. As I pulled the pistol with rhino horn grips from its Snow Leopard skin holster it dawned on me that these whiny, liberal Marxists might be of, what I consider to be, an inferior genetic race. Not wanting to be accused of a "hate crime," I slipped my pistol between my enormous, sweaty, white, blubbery, Big-Mac built belly and waistband of my light blue polyester pants and tried to think. In the meantime, I sent my 12-year-old niece into the liquor store to purchase some non-filtered cigarettes and heavy beer. I told her that if she was good after the gun show, I would drop her off at the abortion clinic, and that after her procedure, I would take her to the cock fights being held near the old abandoned uranium enrichment plant.

Just then my Neo-Nazi friends, on their way to an internationally-owned corporate mega store to buy some animal tested Sudafed for their meth lab, saw my predicament and pulled up beside me. Always willing to help, my skinhead friends pull out their Hitler Waffen SS daggers they purchased on eBay, and began to carve away at the two Firestone-tire-imprinted protesters like the veal they had for lunch. Quicker than you can say, "Jerry Springer is a god," my under-inflated tires were free of the two sign-carrying, unemployed, flag burning, now slightly disabled youths.

Problem solved and I was on my way. The rest of my day was pretty nice.

Sincerely,

P.C. Not