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letra de autism diagnosis meeting - flower yawns

– um, hey um, is this dr. red white and blue freedom eagle i p-ss oil johnson’s office?
why, yes it is! step right in, boy․
– yes, thank you․
so what are you in for, bubba?
– um, um um, i’m here for my autism diagnosis meeting
oh right, exactly. well, i tell ya, boy, you got the ’tism!
– uh, yes, i know that. i started the, this, um, process, almost a year ago actually, i-
well somebody has to give it to you straight! back where i’m from, we don’t mince words, soldier! we tell them how it is! where i’m from, we-
– ye- yes, yes, i understand. shouldn’t you like give me, details, or something? like, what did you find from the tests, and-
ah, yes, of course…
well, what our investigations found was that you’re madder than a wet hen!
– uh, a what?
i tell ya boy, you’re way over yonder! you’re smoking too different! if you were where i’m from, about one hundred years ago – bless your heart – they would have locked you up in the town barrel with the other loonies. back then you would have been the best of amigos with the country- county arsonist and the town sodomiser․
– uh, i- i don’t under- understand․
h-ll, boy, it’s not a sin! and, heavens to betsy, times have changed. but the fact is you’re something of a doohickey of modern medicine. we know you got the ’tism, but you p-ss so different that we don’t know what the h-ll to do with you․
– p-p-ss?
yup, sure enough! our team investigated your urinating habits, and i tell ya boy, you gotta p-ss on the side, boy. it sounded like you were frying chicken in there․
– ch-chicken? hold on now, i’m completely off the rails there. wh-
off the rails? dangnabbit, sl!ck, you’ve never seen of metal in the form of railroad in your life. you’re so deep in the woods that you’re bumping uglies with bigfoot’s great nephew. but as i said, it ain’t a crime, sure enough. you’re simply from the neighbouring town. the northern side of the county. the kooky half. the pile of beans. the cattywampus section. the reverse front yard [?]. the scr-pyard of thingimajig․
– l-look, you’re- you’re not making any sense here, doctor, uh, doc- doctor-
dr. red white and blue freedom eagle i p-ss oil johnson. don’t wear it out, scooter!
– yes, doctor – or whatever your name is, sir, please, i’m worried. you need to give me actual facts here. i don’t understand what you’re saying․
i have three wives, big shot. three wives, fifteen mitre- mistresses, nine ex-wives, thirty-five children and twelve ex-grandchildren. on top of that, i own seventy-five acres of land on which i house four oil wells and a theme park. on top of that, i studied myself a doctor just because i had a hankering to. just ’cause i oughta. i’m drowning in both gucci and texas gold. i eat deep-fried 500-dollar crawdad meals every single night. i’m living in high cotton. i got some sweet sugar from my assistant mere seconds before you carried your bottom into my office. let’s think about the universe for a second. there are about 600 billion doggone stars in the sky. when we think about y’all. you, me, whoever you all know. whoever i know. the beautiful sodden bales, all cuter than a pig’s ear, i sleep with every single night on a pile of cold hard cash, staring at the texarkana moon through my highfalutin skylight, we don’t mean bullcr-p in the context of all that matter in the sky. we’re as insignificant as the speck of dust on my hand-carved custom made 600-dollar timber table. what i’m trying to tell ya here, big guy, is that there is no me. there is no you. we’re all here for reasons plum unknown. just because some higher power, a big fella in the clouds, decided to. let me tell you a story. about what went down in north-eastern arkansas the other day. a freak accident led to the death of eight local men. wyatt carmichael, 26, was driving down the main road of jonesboro when out of nowhere he slid off and crashed into a local convenience store. the combination of carmichael’s car crashing, and the since-discovered oil well under said [computer, enhance] convenience store caused an explosion, sending him, his ford f150, four convenience store workers, three customers, and half the store flying in the air. they all came down like a hail of cats and dogs and splattered on the ground like bugs on a windshield. now. one could declare that this was something that just happens sometimes. a tragic and meaningless coincidence. one void of meaning, ain’t got the good sense god gave a ruck. something that makes an honest god-fearing hard-working dixie bubba wanna slap his mumma. n0body knows what the sam hill it was all about. well, i do. i gave it meaning. i heard about it from my good friend merle sunflower. drove right to jonesboro, and i took that oil. yes sir, i did. i gave that tragedy, i turned it into profit. and now i’m- now, i’m half million richer. and that something carmichael slipped on? that was oil too. now, it’s my oil. i gave it meaning. i turned it into profit. i gave it meaning. and if the creek don’t rise i’ll do it again, bossman. one day i’ll take over this entire darn country. i’ll take every gosh-darn drop of petroleum i can find. i’ll milk the solar system, devil may come. i am the spitting image of god’s shining behind. be-hind. i’m the third revelation intended to scare the crabs out of the two-penny prostitute. i am the sullen gentleman of the end times. i’m having chrome [?] and snorting wooboo [?] off the bonnet of a sports car worth more than what most people learn more in their lifetime. i stocked the deserts out. i draw [?] the valleys in black. what i’m telling you, ace, is that you need to make a meaning out of it. turn it into something. that’s what i live by, and so should you too. a quirked up no-good son of a gun can- can become the next president, ’cause that’s the earth we stop [?] nowadays. if that drunk raccoon of a man, that worthless waker of hooligan war-talk son-of-a-b-tch nixon could do it, who says you can’t? grab- grab that amygdala and show it who runs the circus ’round here. i tell ya mister, i…
well i’ll be d-mned. the boy fainted․

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