NUMBER ONE

In the olden times of our great nation, folks in Maine were not availed regular refuse pick up.

In some backward Swampwaters like Florida, that meant throwing your garbage into the middle of your closest Interstate so the corrupt, baby-eating Federal Government and its boot-licking lackeys were forced to pick it up. If the Feds couldn't get to it, industrious, Meth-addicted Floridians would dig through it and add select bits to their tarp-home in "Unincorporated Gatortown."

-- CONTINUED IN NEXT PRODUCT ON SALE.

Even if you think my book is crappy, buy one to laugh at with your sarcastic friends, and leave cruel, biting reviews so I never try to elevate myself above my station again, Anne B.

MY CRAPPY NOVEL - NOW ONLY $8.75

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