Meth is on Fire

Well. It's Tuesday and the sun is shining. The Sayre fire is 66% contained but Chritopher Lloyd's 11 million dollar mansion in Montecito burned down. I didn't even know he had 11 million dollars. I haven't seen him in a movie since a shitty disney martian movie, but I'm sure he's done a few. Maybe he can go back to the future or something, I apologize I'm still waking up and quite hungry. I was watching flames engulf a trailer park yesterday on the news, nobody was hurt, although mother nature did do some redecorating for the better, a white-trash cinder-block barbecue with kingsford and kerosene, fluffy marshmallow thighs running in bunny slippers, so bring the rubbernecking and oogling ballbark wieners they're seamed and blackened sides splitting like a guffawing couch potato. I saw a couple meth labs go up, green and blue smoke, crystalline fragdals rocketing into the sky tinging it with shards of filament and loony tweakers hopping after them on pogo-sticks in day-glow painted flame-retardant-suits, one of them was wearing an astronaut helmet, two others were fully outfitted in World-War II gasmasks and zoot-suits, yet another was braving the heat in a scuba suit complete with bright green flippers and an oxygen tank, those crazy fucking tweakers, I swear, if they invested the amount of energy they did in getting a fix into getting somewhere they could put out that fire with their penises and a truckload of Poland Spring.