Freddogg Off The Chain

There is an expression used when a young man sometimes acts like a Yahoo with a personalized Google Address. “That frogman looking lizard didn’t lick it off the bricks, ”my grandmother would say. “His grandfather was pretty much the precursor to the trashy witless behavior exhibited by that fish stick eating dirt bomb tossing moron now home schooled down the street.”
I saw a young white thug’s head rammed into the stadium brick in Baltimore last Saturday night ironically by a brick red necked block head drinking a Budweiser.
A pile of bricks has since fallen off the scaffold of history landing at my feet. I’m humming Jethro Tull’s “Thick as a Brick” 43 minutes long, and real poetry which I played continuously on the 8 Track inside my 1966 White Impala on the way to work a summer job at a machine shop for 2 dollars an hour straight time. How gay!

http://www.lyricsfreak.com/j/jethro+tull/thick+as+a+brick_20071158.html

I have received invitations to buy bricks with my name on them to later be cemented into college stadium walls and public bathrooms. It is only because I am a celebrity citizen with an M.V. P. card from Food Lion that I am offered such opportunities.
Donald Trump just paid 15 grand to have his star prominently placed on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. If I were in charge I’d tell “The Donald” to “fuck off” and start his own Walk of Fame.
Immortality is popular right now and in many ways it is for sale as I sit here clipping sports columns, features and game stories for a yearly press contest and it cuts across my grain to play because I run the risk of caring about winning and getting my very own symbolic brick in the condemned building of Rump Plaza.

I don’t want to be In-Mortar

Freddogg