You know, it’s kinda fockin’ funny in this town…
Cause, y’know, Milwaukee’s not quite as big as Chicago which is, y’know, fockin’ monstrous, ain’a? But it’s sure as fock not small, neither. So, what I’m getting to here…
Hey-a, Mike! Whaddaya hear, whaddaya know?
Sorry, Jesus, Mary and Joseph that was rude. Sorry.
So what I’m getting to here is that there’s a plenty of oldbones around, sure, but there aren’t a lot of people fockin’ taking care of business, right? Because they all just fock right off for Chi-town or New York or fockin’ Cali-fockin’-fornia, don’t they? They skip out on the place!
Now how do you account for that?
Because they might scarper, sure, okay, I getcha, whatever, fock off. But the shades, well, they have no such luxury, do they? So we get to pick up the tab, don’t we?
Now where, if I may so humbly ask, is the fockin’ justice in that? Where’s the justice?
Ain’t no justice, son. And the beer pours for the dead and living and undead alike, in Brew City. Hah! You hear that? I just fockin’ made that up. I should write poetry. Ha-HA!
—Reggie V. Dubcek, Apostate of the Great Lakes Krewe.