In all of my travels I have never seen such a brazen bunch of butt pirates as I have encountered in Key West, Florida. I am frightened, standing outside of a liquor store on Truman Ave, for the fate of my butt. I see them staring at it with lust in their eyes and saliva on their lips. Am I the only one that notices? Dont laugh. Ive seen them. All over Key West, roving bands of pseudo-pirates intent on nothing but the capturing of your butt. Your butts are not safe! Protect your butts at all cost, for the Butt Pirates are real and they are insatiable.
Contrary to popular belief, I am not a wealthy man. In fact, Im damned poor. I try to be as frugal as a man who smokes, drinks, and cavorts with loose women can be. I recycle as much as I dare. I try to understand them, the butt pirates, and their desire to turn waste into a playground, I do, but I think that this has gone on long enough. I am not naïve enough to believe that my little blog here is going to change anything but it is my blog and it needs to be said. LEAVE MY BUTT ALONE!
Cigarettes are expensive. In some areas, smokes are nearly 7 or 8 dollars a pack. I smoke 2 packs a day whether I want to or not. Nicotine keeps me calm as do most of my vices. If I were not such a hopeless sinner, the rest of the human race would fall victim to my particular brand of hostility. If there were no such thing as chemical attitude adjustments, my cynicism would override my Hippy Dippy One Human Family sensibilities and I would not be the pleasant fun loving guy that you all have come to know and love. In short, I would probably be a dick. I need my nicotine.
So imagine my dismay when, through the window of the liquor store, I witnessed a butt pirate stealing my ¾ cigarette that I had carefully laid on the sill. I smoke so much that I have a tendency to light smokes at inappropriate times. Like, right before I enter the liquor store. I am forced at that time to carefully extinguish my cigarette and leave it on the window sill where I have plans to retrieve it on my way out. That is, until the Butt Pirate absconds with it.
I hung out with the homeless for a time a few years ago for a story I was writing and I feel that I understand them for the most part. The homeless drunken bum still holds a particular special place in my heart. The smelly bastards always make me smile when I see them lounging drunkenly foul against the playground equipment where my kid likes to play. I joyfully throw change at them at every opportunity, comforted by the fact that they will use my money to buy booze and oxycontins instead of the barbeque sandwich they so obviously need. I have nothing but love for the guy at Home Depot with the cardboard sign that proclaims he was laid off, please help. He has figured out how to not get a real job by plying on the guilt of the white middle class. However, when the bums begin assuming that just because you put it down, it belongs to them, my affection begins to wears thin.
Leave my butt alone, you homeless junkie. You butt pirate. I paid for the privilege of smoking my WHOLE cigarette. At an average cost of twenty five cents a smoke, I feel I have earned that right. Dont you? Pick some habits that you AND I can afford. Like eating the leftovers from the garbage cans outside of the Grand. I cant afford to eat there and the last time I did&well, lets just say that you were welcome to whatever I left on my plate. How about drinking the leftover beers in the cups that the tourists leave laying everywhere on Duval. It would not only get you good and snockered, but you would be doing your part toward the beautification of the island.
I love you all but leave my butt alone. Im not that kind of guy.
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