The infamous D.M.V
If you happen to go there to get your license…you mind as well expect to sit there for fucking life….there only happens to be 2 people at the counter and about 40 billion people in the waiting area shoulder to shoulder, you mind as well be living in Hong Kong for christ sakes….
They are sweating like a pack of apes in heat, with numbers in there hands that say “come back next century motherfucker”….the sweats rolling in the door, like fags at a N-sync concert-and babies are crying like it’s a fucking pediatric hospital.
After you grow a god damn beard like Moses it’s finally time to go up to the counter that looks like a gate into hell–they deny you just like david hasselhoff asking for another rum and coke at the open bar in Tahiti… because he’s trying to kram a wendy’s sandwich into his god damn throat while spitting up hamburger meat into some gay guy’s lap next to him
Your denied because you don’t have the right fucking number in your hand…it got lost while you were in the bathroom vomiting the cheesesteak sandwich you got out of the vending machine…
The expiration on it was from 332 B.C.
So the rent a cop’s come to haul you off in a straight jacket to the tomb they used for Jesus’s burial……
The moral of the story is—– just put a piece of saran wrap over a fucked up picture of yourself and write the word license on it with a black marker….if the cop’s question it, just start running to Canada because your fucked!!!