Kids, I know I am a remiss blogger what with my "real life" and "laziness" and this week "illness" getting in my way, but there is no excuse for how long it has been since I mocked America's laziest comic: Pluggers. I hope to make it up to all of you by countering its salt-of-the-earth sincerity with my signature bitchiness that ruins everything good in this world. YOU HEAR THAT, RANDOM INTERNET COMMENTERS AND/OR CERTAIN COMIC STRIP ARTISTS WHO DON'T LIKE MY CRITICISM: I am mean and "disrespectful" and I like it. Just trying to balance out the universe against everybody with good intentions in a relatively harmless sort of way. I'm basically preventing genocide through snarkiness. Or I'm just lazy and mean. Whatevs. Pluggers:
I don't understand this one. Was taping shows off of TV once considered copyright infringement? Because I think we've moved beyond that by now. But seriously, who still tapes shit? Or are they just re-watching old episodes of '80s shows? DON'T PLUGGERS KNOW ABOUT CABLE? It's called "syndication" and "Nick at Nite," bitchez.
If we take oven to = uterus, as in "she's got a bun in the 'oven'"--then I don't even want to know what lady Pluggers keep up there between bouts of reproduction.
While I am proud to say that my first job at age eleven was a paper route, I know damn well that there will be no more print newspapers by the time I am able to "retire" at age 85 in 2068 and will have to work as a greeter at the Wal-Mart® Retirement Village/Human Organ Storage and Retrieval Zone all senior "citizens" will be forced into once Social Security collapses two or three years from now.
Pluggers have a patriotic bumper sticker addiction problem. Either that, or they really would forget about 9/11 without the constant reminders. Years of prescription drug abuse can do that to you.
Pluggers all received inferior public education. Shockingly.
Pluggers' lives are an unending parade of microwave dinners, death, and ill-fitting clothing. I don't know why microwave dinners, but it seems like something they'd eat while watching barely functional VHS copies of old Murder, She Wrote episodes.
If that mug were full of booze and that rhino just pretended that spill hadn't happened, I could be a Plugger. Barely dodged bullet. Phew.
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