I fucking hate geese, I fucking hate them, I got attacked by a goose when I was a kid, I never got over it. I was my uncle was a Baptist preacher, and I was in his little white clapboard Baptist church in a little bitty town in Texas. And I was sitting on a vacation Bible school. I'm back on the back porch to charge my little sandwich, six years old, drinking the Kool-Aid. There's booze comes out of this pond like a fucking killing machine.

Bites me on the fucking leg, steals my sandwich, leaves me shudder, crying, I had nightmares about it my entire goddamn childhood. I fucking hate them.

They're not natural gas aren't natural, they're not the way they cross the street right in front of fucking cars with that weird ass confident. Yo, bitch, what the fuck you going to do about it? Block those beady eyes on you. I got 17 friends behind me, nobody move until we get across the street. They could have flown over the fucking street. I'm in my Carl intimidating, I'm like, oh, what? I even knew I could put my car and drive and roll over your ass and nobody would give a shit, I wouldn't do it.

No one in this fucking room would do it. You know why? Because we're scared to fucking death, guys. Nobody wants to talk about it with me. And we shouldn't be afraid of guys, too, and I'll tell you why Goose is the only animal on the planet could take a jetliner out of the fucking sky and make it land on the Hudson River. That's what happened to that plane. Sully landed on the Hudson River. Geese started flying through the engines of that jet.

Radical terrorist. Canadian geese. Build a net. No other animal crosses the road with this kind of fucking poise. That's all I'm saying. No other fucking animal does this. When my dog gets out of the yard, gets in the street, he's like, oh, fuck, I'm in the road. Does a Z pattern to get across? Squirrels, nature's most Chitti critical thinkers. Well, I've been here, but I've never been here, and if I only did.

Cats die when they touch the road. That's all the cat has to do is just pound. For so many dead cats on the street, it looks carpeted. You ever seen a dead goose anywhere in your goddamn life just laying there dead because it died somewhere? Fuck no, you have not. Because they rarely fucking die. I have a backup plan to curtail the goose population in America. I'm going to open a chain of restaurants that only sells baby goose pussy live tacos.

You think, you know, tender, but you really don't know that baby goose pussy lips makes wangu beef taste like bootblack, blue leather, new leather ragu. The boot that the baby makes Ragu beef taste like Boudinot boot.

All right. I'm going to rewrite that sentence. I can get that I want to get this right for the special baby whose pussy lips makes me. And Yashoda. I'm ready. Shut up. You're supposed to shut up. Baby, whose pussy lips makes wangu beef tastes like boot leather. Watch Ron White, if you quit listening, I'll shut up only on Netflix.