Lilly Jones hated the neighbors. They were filthy pig fuckers. All they did was eat, sleep and have sex in their pig-gas guzzling car in the backyard. Every Thurday. Didn’t they ever think of the planet? Filthy pig fuckers! She felt she ought to report them–but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do that. Because, she said. Because, because, because. She watched those pigs have sex–group sex!–in their pig-gas guzzler every Thursday. She believed in Global Warming and knew it was ’cause of dirty, filthy, pig fuckers like that–white trash, she called them. White trash pig fuckers. The cause of global warming. If she could, she’d have them removed–quietly, but removed nonetheless. Maybe she should report them. Maybe she should. Save the planet, she said, and have the pig fuckers removed. Besides, none of them had graduated from college and she did. She had a degree–she often thought this when watching them have group sex in the back yard on Thursdays. Still, she suffered through it. Because. She suffered through it because the pig fuckers–the white trash racists who were probably Conservatives, or those evil Libertarians who blew up that building in Oklahoma, or fans of Stephen King . . . because as much as she hated to admit it, those kinds of people, those illiterate pig fuckers, made a mean shine, and when Lilly craved shine, she craved the best shine you can find: white trash shine that some said came from the moon. She hated herself even more for craving it; so she secretly prayed to Obama that he would destroy all the people who don’t think like him, especially those white trash, pig fucking moon shiners! Damn them pig fuckers, she said! Take your money and give me my shine and damn you to hell!
“This here is our shootin’ car. Just three more payments and it’s all ours!”
Lilly Jones hated the neighbors. They were filthy pig fuckers. All they did was eat, sleep and have sex in their pig-gas guzzling car in the backyard. Every Thurday. Didn’t they ever think of the planet? Filthy pig fuckers! She felt she ought to report them–but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do that. Because, she said. Because, because, because. She watched those pigs have sex–group sex!–in their pig-gas guzzler every Thursday. She believed in Global Warming and knew it was ’cause of dirty, filthy, pig fuckers like that–white trash, she called them. White trash pig fuckers. The cause of global warming. If she could, she’d have them removed–quietly, but removed nonetheless. Maybe she should report them. Maybe she should. Save the planet, she said, and have the pig fuckers removed. Besides, none of them had graduated from college and she did. She had a degree–she often thought this when watching them have group sex in the back yard on Thursdays. Still, she suffered through it. Because. She suffered through it because the pig fuckers–the white trash racists who were probably Conservatives, or those evil Libertarians who blew up that building in Oklahoma, or fans of Stephen King . . . because as much as she hated to admit it, those kinds of people, those illiterate pig fuckers, made a mean shine, and when Lilly craved shine, she craved the best shine you can find: white trash shine that some said came from the moon. She hated herself even more for craving it; so she secretly prayed to Obama that he would destroy all the people who don’t think like him, especially those white trash, pig fucking moon shiners! Damn them pig fuckers, she said! Take your money and give me my shine and damn you to hell!
in Appalachia, the girl scouts are growing the business empire. Yup > moonshine!