Boxhead. A standard bearer of what is good and right about Mankind. A closeted genius, who doesn't go looking for the praise of the crowd. A light on the hill for all of us who want to see the truth and right prevail.
And he is also pretty good at swatting away the dickheads.
Dickheads? Did someone say dickheads? Well here comes one... Our old friend Ricardovitz.
Dear Mr Boxhead,
We still-up some good 'ol Jefferson Davis moonshine dat'l light ya up, Boxboy. Then I git tar think'n y'all might make yer own mighty-fine moonshine come inside dat red box ya keep yer pickled head in. What kinda spirits fill up dat red box? Jefferson Davis Recipe? Nathan Forest's Fritzaphoria (bless his soul)? David Duke's Ethyerium?
Tain't noth'n like Jeff-Davis 190 "Hot Likkker" tar git yer women-folk "in-da-moon", if ya no what I mean, Boxboy!!!
Love,
Ricardovitz
Dear Mr Ricardovitz,
I got 'em in Red. I got 'em in Green. All the colours of the fucking rainbow. And it is only good 'ol Aussie brews for me. That's where my box comes from.
There's definitely no way I'd put a box on my head of that washed up Yank crap your spouting about Ricky. I mean, take a gander at that Nathan Bedford fella. He looks as queer as they come! Now he can bang as many dixie boys as he wants, I don't mind. But there is no way I'd be drinking any liquor with his name on it.
Love,
Boxhead
