We seriously need money. Anything. A buck. Come ahhhn!

From the Ditch of a Blue Collar Guy from South Buffalo

Tim Russert was like a father to me: He was Irish, raised in South Buffalo, I never saw him and I got no money when he died. Most people from Buffalo thought of Tim that way. He was a shining red-faced beacon for us all. He was an example of what a blue collar guy from Buffalo can accomplish—and without smoking crack or playing funk bass! He never once used his lowly upbringing as an excuse. He lived large, and knowing from the geographic shit-hole he was born into, he must have dreamt even larger.

What people outside of Buffalo don’t understand is how hard it is to make something of yourself when you are from Buffalo. It’s nearly impossible. For example, over 80% of Buffalonians die before they are ever conceived! But that’s not the real tragedy. The real tragedy is that of the 20% who make it, almost all of them will succumb to suicidal wings. It’s a cry for help. It’s the poverty that makes us that way.

The typical Buffalo home is made of wood and the lawns of dirt. Now, I don’t mean that as a metaphor. I mean actual dirt. Sure, there’s grass, but under that grass is dirt. And there’s nothing poorer than dirt. Is it any wonder that the MSM bigwigs are so amazed that a blue collar guy from Buffalo was able to overcome such obstacles?

Well, I gotta get back to the grind. This ditch’s gotta be a hundred yards long by noon, or I’ll get fired and then fed to a pack of wolverines—which is a Buffalo tradition.

It’s no wonder Tim Russert worked so hard!