Hey, I'll admit it. I ****in' hate every one of them.
The primitives don't do a whole lot to make themselves likeable to us anyway.
You might recall that when the Polaroid kid first showed up at our old home, I got somewhat worried because he was making a bad impression.
So I offered to be his public relations manager, to coach him in the ways of winning friends and influencing people, and to improve his rather tawdry public image.
He sent me a message back telling me to get lost.
Hoo-kay.
There's something the primitives don't understand about the way the world works.
When franksolich offers the hand of friendship to a primitive, best that the primitive take it.
Notice, please, that no primitive who has ever clasped the hand of friendship with franksolich has ever showed up in the DUmpster, to be lampooned and mocked and ridiculed and made fun of. Primitives who accept the genial company of franksolich are left alone on Skins's island, to say whatever they wish to say, with no notice or comment from decent and civilized people; it's almost as if they don't exist for us to see.
I dunno
how that works, but that's the way it works.
I can't be responsible for whatever happens to a primitive who spurns franksolich.
And "something" inevitably happens.
I give you, besides Pedro Picasso, the defrocked warped primitive, she with the face like Hindenberg's, and my fellow Nebraskan Chief Weeping Deer. franksolich tendered the offer of friendship to them, and they rejected it.
Well, something happened; they're major stars in the DUmpster.
I dunno
how that works, but that's the way it works.
