Dis is the backside of our place, we cleaned up them picknick tables and all the trash real goode.
Howdy everbody, I'm here to talk today about da dangers of teh internet. Now, I spent most of ma life without the fancy, smancy internet, let alone a compooter, or lectric, runnin' water, central heat, blah, blah, blah, you get da picture. Well, Remy and Slack an I decided we's should enter into the twentieth century, so we pooled our monies together and got a generator from Uncle Thom so dat we's could stop stinkin' up the libary an get on the world wide web from da comfort of our home. Now I have to admit, we did steel a compooter from the high school; Slack broke a window an I snuck in and hauled one out along with the contents of a vinding machine so we's have somethin' decent to eat for supper for once in our lives. Back at da trailer, we had to call Uncle Thom to come over an show us how to hook the damn thing up to da generator, 'cuz Remy had it plugged in to an outlet spite da fact dat we don't have lectric; his explanation was dat da witch docter had rendered him able to conduct lectric usin' just da powder of his mine, like he was Cap'n Picard or somethin', which I guess ain't true, seeing how we never did get any lectric. Thom got us hooked up, though eh did say some mean things, mostly referencing our lack of telligence--he says we couldnt find our asses if theys was attached, which ain't true, I certainly have no problem findin' my ass, considerin' how it smells. Well, first thing we do when we get da internet is to look up all da fine ladies of the night in dere berfday suits, an boy, lemme tell ya, I had no idea women could look so goode naked; maybe its the area or my breath, but I ain't never seen any ladies wit boobies an asses like basketballs. We all took turns lookin' at da pictures, an each of us got ourselves some private time, which was fine, but nobody cleaned up da mess an pretty soon da compooter was lookin' like somebody shot elmer's glue all over it, an da keyboard was stickin' to yur fingers somethin' awful.
I typed in "dangers of da internet" in da google an dis is what I got, which don't make no sense.
So Slack, being a ladies man, gets himself in a bit of trouble almost immediately. He starts hanging out in chat rooms, pretendin' to be a teenager, which is more then a bit deceivin', since he's 'bout thirty-one years of age, if da stars be right. I tell 'em he's gonna get caught an have to go back to jail, but he don't listen, an pretty soon he's got himself a date with a strapping young lady of like fourteen or so an dere gonna meet in da park. Remy and I go along wit him, just to make sure he don't do nothin' stoopid like try an take her somewhere public like Ponderosa. Slack's got himself dressed as Justin Beever sa dat he look somethin' like a fourteen-year-old, an I do declare, he's pullin' it off pretty damn goode. Well, we never see no lady of da night, but a fat man wit a pony tail come up to him an ask if he's da gentlemen he's a lookin' for, an it turns out dat the supposedly strapping young lady is in actuality a forty-year-old convicted child molster, which, ain't dat just 'bout right? Me and Remy jump outta da bushes then and start wailin' on da perv, beatin' him wit sticks, an he just collapses and starts crying 'bout ponies or some shit. We take da Beever home and get 'em cleaned up, an tell 'em that they can't all be victories an yus gotta be warry on da internet. He says "Ok" an then he start lookin' up boobies again. I swear, we dont get nothin' done; all we do is pound our meat, an I'm a scared dat da compooter will get too full of seamen an stop workin' an den what we gonna do? So watch out, peoples, da internet is addictive an full of boobies an pervs pretendin' to be Justin Beever followers, an ain't dat just 'bout da most awful thing yus ever heard?