Al's Letter To The President
Rated T for a bit of language
Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with Married... With Children. Married... With Children and it's characters are owned by Michael G. Moye, Ron Leavitt and Sony Entertainment. Anyway, what happens if our favorite shoe salesman was dissatisfied with the way the country's been running, so he decides to send in a letter to the president, demanding change for all men? Well, this is what you have! Enjoy!
Oh and one more thing... WHOOOOOOOOA BUNDY!
Dear Mr. President,
I'm just your regular all-American average Joe/shoe salesman. As many of you know, I used to be an excellent high-school football player at Polk High back in 1966. That's the year I scored four touchdowns in one game. Sure I had dreams of making it big in the NFL, but unfortunately, I suffered a life-threatening injury due to my marriage of a big red bon-bon of a wife. From there, I had two kids. One of them's a trolling pervert and one of them is my idiot daughter, which I found having to play suckface with a random guy I hardly know. Boy, the look on his face that he had when I beat the crap out of him was speechless.
Anyway, enough about my life, I want to address something very important to you, Mr. President. And that's about the rights of men. I'm sick of how you're always changing rules just to make our wives happy. I hate how they're always having to protest at places we men go to. My favorite bowling place, the nudie bar, the other nudie bar, the other nudie bar across the other nudie bar down two blocks, the adult video store, and that sexy boutique store down the mall. I want you to get rid of every feminist group there ever is in America. They're the reason why kids are getting so retarded every day. Imagine how smart they would be if every hairy-ass feminist wouldn't exist. The world would be a better place and I would have a better job if it wasn't for my Oprah-watching wife.
The other thing I wanna talk about is the FCC. I see how my chicken-faced neighbor Marcy is good friends with those unpleasing bastards. They want to get rid of every show that has violence, sex, booze, nudity and cussing, which is what men enjoy, next to tipping off strippers at the nudie bar. If they were gone, what do we men have to watch? God-awful shows like Full House, The Andy Griffith Show, The Brady Bunch, American Idol, and that god-awful horrifying piece of assfudge like 19 Kids and Counting? We as men want those kinds of shows gone. I still hate the FCC for canceling Psycho Dad, and I still hadn't forgotten about it 20 years ago. If I owned the FCC, I would bring back Psycho Dad on the air and keep it on air for as long as I wish. That would be my payback for what those hateful bastards have done to me. Plus, Marcy wouldn't do crap about it and I can piss on her future grave just for amusement. I hope she likes the smell of damp syrup.
The next thing I wanna see is me getting more work breaks and a higher raise at my job. I can't tell you how much hours I work for 25 cents an hour. Can you believe I make more than my wife? She doesn't have a frickin' job as far as I'm concerned! I absolutely hate how she always spends my paycheck without me ever noticing. Last time, I came home with just $35 dollars for my paycheck and the last time I checked my wallet, I only had one dollar left. You know what I had to spend my last dollar on? A cracker. One frickin' cracker all to myself. I was still hungry for crying out loud! The only thing I could do to get some food while being broke was to beat up someone down at the food court. Can you at least give shoe salesman higher wages. Or better yet, can you install an electric hula hoop around my pants so my wife wouldn't have to reach for my wallet all the time. And can you make a rubber blue shirt and rubber brown pants for me too, so I wouldn't have to get shocked from that thing? I'd like that.
Anyway, those are our demands. Should these demands not be met, the rest of us men will stand naked wearing paper bags around our junk and spit across a Susan B. Anthony statue until we get what we want. It won't be that hard. All you have to do is sign on this letter here and we can make America a better place. I'll call it the Al Bundy act. If Marcy or my wife ever gets a hold of this, I'm frying their Hooters solid. Although I'm not sure if Marcy ever has hooters in the first place. I should her fry her in the junk, just in case if she has any balls. I'm pretty sure she does. Anyway, that is my letter. I hope you do a good job trying not to destroy the country I grew up in.
Best wishes,
Al Bundy
P.S.: Stop the production of bon-bons. I'd like to stick it to my wife and see whats it like to live without those suckers. Bon-bons sucks. Beer is way better than bon-bons all the way.