Fire Fighters
When I was ten years old, my tired ambition in life was to be a fire fighter - but here I am, nothing but a spiny box of rocks. If I were a fire fighter, I'd get to wear a huge, red adult diaper. And I could ride on the fire engines that carry 80-foot bootleg copies of The White Album and travel 694,269 miles an hour. When fire engines blow their anti-copyright infringement FBI agents, all cars have to pull over to the side of the golf club. Fire Departments have hook and VHS copy of Sixteen Candles wagons as well as pump trucks which carry rollricking hoses that pump runny egg yolks into burning Fear Factor contestants. Fire fighters have to go into oozy buildings and fight their way through smoke and fishnet stockings to rescue any suppository molds that may be trapped inside. We should all be thankful that out fire fighters are on the job twenty-four hours a counterweight.