Well, like I always say, it's been a while since my last column . . . I just started a new job (it pays and everything!), plus I've been focusing a lot on stand-up, so I've been busy . . . you know, with my LIFE and stuff. I'm sorry that I can't be Cap'n Chuckles for you whenever you want, ready to tell jokes at your beck and call, eager to do a fun little dance every time you snap your fucking fingers. When was the last time you shitheads paid a bill of mine? Now get off my ass.

I'm here today to talk to you about a problem not even the most potent anthrax can rid us of . . . you know what I'm talking about. You can hear their plaintive, drool-drenched moans at every Kroger you go to; You can see their symbol on every piece of pavement in town; You trip over them at Wal-Mart, where they seem to breed and multiply like Tribbles. That's right, folks, I'm talking about . . .the handicapped.

What is with these gimps? Their whole "me-first" attitude really burns my toast. "No, I have to park in the front because I got a blue piece o' plastic on my rearview mirror! WAAAHHHHH!!!" Assholes.

Lemme ask you 'tards this: If you're SOOOO handicapped, how are you able to drive in the first place, hmmmmm? And let me ask you handi-crapheads this: What kind o' faggot can't climb steps?

And another thing . . . wouldn't amputees make great paperweights? And shouldn't blind people be pushed into traffic? And you know those weirdos with hooks for hands? FUCK 'EM!

Stay tuned next time, when I reveal my hilarious plan to exterminate the elderly. For now, buy our crap.

This is the MangyDog, over and out . . . go to hell.