All Apologies

Yesterday afternoon, after consuming the obligatory Thanksgiving meal, I spent a few hours assembling my latest dispatch of verbal brilliance to the internet.


Twelve hours later, while doling out my daily ex gratia payment to the Justin Bieber Center for the Performing Arts, it occurred to me that some of my language from that post may have been a little too coarse.


A little undeserved.


A little misplaced and unprovoked.


As such, I’m here today to offer up an apology.


This one goes out to all of the syphilitic gaggles of moose taint that wander the fruited plain free and untethered.  To the blue waffles and fetid bags of monkey excrement, this one’s coming at you too.


I haven’t forgotten you vomit fondling shit bricks, you felching turd burglars, or the window licking butt munchers either.


To the parasitic ass waffles and pendulous meat curtains, step on up.  You’re deserving of this apology as well.


To all of you, I’m sorry.


Yesterday, I debased your character by ascribing your respective monikers to that of a certain NFL franchise based out of Dallas, Texas.  Such an act was completely disrespecting of the noble efforts you’ve put forth over the years to achieve your status in your fields.  That was wrong, and I apologize.


If I should ever dedicate space on the web to discussing that team again, I’ll consider other language to describe them.


Boom shanka.

Randy Tharp

TharpSter is a husband to one woman, a father to two kids, a master to two dogs, an occasional cubical occupant, and unable to make up his mind on an adequate theme for this website.

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