Analytical Dissections of the Critically Malnourished

This week's review: People with leaf blowers

To start off this review, I would like to simply extend a large, steaming "fuck you" to anybody with a leaf blower. What the hell were you thinking? Did you notice how much that thing cost? Didn't anybody tell you how loud it would be? More importantly, didn't you know that I hate loud things? Are you so dense that you would make an expenditure without it even crossing your mind how it may affect my world? Check this out: if the leaves are in your yard, consolidate them with a rake. If they are on a paved surface such as a sidewalk or patio, use a broom. Not only will you save money, but I won't hate you, which is something that no amount of money can buy.

To continue this review, I would like to simply extend a bulging, pulsating "fuck you" pregnant with baby "fuck yous" to anybody that STILL owns a leaf blower. What the hell is wrong with you? Can't you read? Every time you use that thing, you blow up dust everywhere, and sometimes the dust gets in my eyes. I hate dust. It reminds me of the desert. I don't like deserts very much because there's almost always nothing to do in a desert. And the sound. It sounds like a really shitty motorcycle that doesn't pass. I if I wanted to hear a malnourished vehicle idle in a stationary position for extended periods of time, I would move back to Idaho and drink keystone ice with the people I went to high school with while they tried to get their Yamahas in gear, which would never happen because all of their mechanical knowledge is actually just a motif they adopted when they realized on a subconscious level that they had no actual abilities or skills. This is the case with all of the unlicensed mechanics I have met. Either get certified or work at the mill, just quit trying to convince me you know what you're talking about. Shit fuckers. Fuck Idaho.

To summarize this review, I would like to aggressively extend explosive "F's" to people that own leaf blowers, the state of Idaho, adults who can't read, getting sand in my eyes, and shitty motorcycle enthusiasts.

This is your final grade: F.

It is yours to carry with you the short distance from the bowels of Idaho to the bowels of Hell.

P.S. Seriously go buy a fucking broom