Velociworld

I COULD KILL OZZIE

on pure principle. I don't really need a reason. See, I've been hearing a beep in my house all fucking day. An unfamiliar beep. Checked my cell phones, my answering machine, my coffeemaker (that American-made piece of shit beeps), hell, I even looked in my drawers. Then I figured it out. The Princess had been watching an Osbournes marathon in the den, and left the TV on low (I never go in the den. TV's too big, no blogging there, no dog pee in the carpeting that drives the free flow of electrons in my brain). It was Osbourne profanity bleeping, from Ozzie, his skank ho wife, and fucktard offspring.

Those Osbourne assholes put the funk in dysfunctional. If my children cussed like that I'd tear up their ass like last year's birdnest. Of course, if I was Ozzie, my kids would probably tear up my ass.

Why does Ozzie so chap my ass? Because I paid good money to see Black Sabbath in 1973. I was sixteen, and had a good buzz on from some half-assed Mexican and three or four Miller ponies. Ozzie came on, sang five or six songs, then fled the stage grabbing his throat. Laryngitis. The promoter told us to hold onto our ticket stubs, and all would be made good in the future. About 10 years later that same nickel bag promoter tried to convince people to redeem those tickets for a Dan Hill concert, or some such bullshit. I said screw that. I still have that ticket stub, and one day, Allah willing, I'll stick it up Ozzie's dain bramaged ass.

Well, at least he did Sweet Leaf and Paranoid before he fled. But I still say Ozzie Osbourne is a pussy of the first magnitude.