Rehab is for Suckers....

For the record, I've never been to rehab...fuck that. Just as you might expect, I am also a fan of the Amy Winehouse broad. That song she has about the tears drying on their own...its track 3 on CutDog's soundtrack to life. See, early in my drinking days, people wanted the Cutmaster to quit drinking, they told me "you can't be drunk when it's only 10a.m. in the mornin'!"...No problem, I started getting up at 12 in the afternoon. My boss thought he could fix me. I was doing security at one of those fancy mall strips, you know, one of those get-ups where the stores are outside and they serve smoothies....god, I hated those things but they mixed well with Smirnoff....anywho...they had me stationed by some fancy pants jewelry store but the customers kept calling mall management saying there was a sweaty Wino outside the door. So the calls would come through my radio, and I'd look around but find nothing. Pretty soon, I caught on, and so did management that it was yours truly they were complaining about. Didn't those idiot shoppers see my badge?? Im Top muthaphuckin' Flight security!!! I just had sweat rings under my arms and neck, and my forhead glistened a tad. Hell, half them customers had sweat rings too and they werent drunk...or were they?? Nevertheless, I was unjustifiably let go. I had good friends in high places thanks to the local watering hole: I threatened my former employer with a phone call from my Jewish lawyer (Cutdog isn't a racist, Jews just happen to be really good lawyers and this one happened to share my affinity for hard liquor, Western Movies, and Richard Pryor making him my friend)....he told me I had a case due to the fact that no-one ever saw me drinking more than a what appeared to be a smoothie (my nickname is Spiked Lee). Rather than making me famous in a Rodney King/Kevin Federline sense, they opted to settle out of court. CutDog opted to become hood rich and never work a day in his life. This ain't a case of the sun shining on a dog's ass...I am Tha Dog, but Cutty's no ass...I'll save that for that Bouty Hunter fella....

So what the fuck does this have to do with you, right? Where is the golden lesson? Well, rehab counselors (fuckit, all counselors) are insecure bastards. They need to be around people like you and me to feel good about themselves. They are the slim blondes who surround themselves with fatties to be the Hot Chick...well news flash: CutDog likes the Meaty. Anyway, I digress...They need you to cry in front of them to give them a false sense of relevance, like that Ed Norton guy in Fight Club. Who needs someone telling you that your natural lifestyle aint right? Did your great great great great great great grandfather Mr. Caveman have counselors telling them that it was wrong to bop your great great great great great great grandmother on the head with that club to make your great great great great great mother/father....NOPE!!! And cavepeople were brilliant enough to give us the gifts of fire and the art of BBQ'ing.

Next time someone feeds you some bullshit about how un-right your life is bitch slap them, and let their tears dry on their own...and if you spill your liquor doin' it....it, too, dries on its own.

Signing Off,
Tha Dog

Next Blog: People Who Will Never Be Shit in Life....