Dilbert Punk Edit

Dilbert Punk edit

Dilbert Punk edit

Dilbert Punk edit

Dilbert punk edit

• Dilbert punk edit

1. Dilbert punk edit?

Dilbert punk edit

I want to have sex with him so badly

“punk died when green day became famous”

nah son punk died when elitist snobs like your sorry ass started treating punk like some sort of secret club with pathetic rules

Let me show you one of my favorite images on the internet: nuns performing “exorcism” on a very patient punk dude

Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1dbXr3GikQE

• for one hour each day it rains. for one hour each day it is blisteringly hot. the next hour it is snowing. the next, hail. no one knows what season it is.
  
• zebra mussels coat the bottom of every lake. the beaches are permanently stained red from the bloody feet of those foolish enough to swim there.
• skeletal remains of shipwrecked freighters rise high out of the water, illuminated by the green glow from a hundred lighthouses. when you get close to them you are overwhelmed by the drone of a fog horn that seems to live inside your head. your eyes roll back, your boat is flooding. get away from the wreck. you are surrounded by lighthouses. where did all these lighthouses come from.
• what’s in the pasties? some joke that it’s humans but you know the truth. the black squirrels with demonic red eyes would take over otherwise. the pasties keep michigan safe.
• the horses on mackinac island are the same ones that have been there since the beginning of time. everyone talks about the Grand Hotel but no one ever actually goes there. it smells like fudge and rotting meat. it is where the horses keep their humans.
• unsuspecting tourists cross to the wrong side of sleeping bear dunes into the sharp-toothed maw of the actual sleeping bear. this is how she’s fed. everyone lives in terror of when she will awake.
• it is march 23rd. all of the sudden everyone around you begins chanting at once. O B E R O N everyone drones. people fall to the ground, limbs jerking, foam dripping from their mouth. it smells like oranges and beer. strangled cries echo throughout cities O B E R O N they scream. the bars are locked and shuttered, the patrons trapped inside.
• thousands of cars line the highway, snaking down I-94, I-96, I-75. they are waiting for the dark man to return from o h i o. he will distribute the fireworks. later the sky will seem as though it is on fire, the sound of explosions never ceasing. it is fourth of july weekend. night never comes.
• no one has ever left michigan adventure.
• the ghost of henry ford appears in the passenger seat of anyone with a foreign car. he opens his mouth in a silent scream. bugs pour out. he disappears. toyotas and audis are found abandoned everywhere along the road, the bones of their drivers picked clean.
• petoskey stones are found on the beach each morning arranged in the shape of strange circular sigils. no one knows what happens if you step in the center, but the life-like garden sculptures sold at every small town art fair offer some clues. their stone eyes plead for you to help them.
• time does not exist in meijer. it is a respite from the ills of the outside world. although not technically trapped, many never leave.
• all residents are tested each year to ensure they have ingested the required amount of better made chips and faygo. if not, their hands are cut off. without their hand maps, these criminals wander the state, unable to find their home. “where are you from?” people ask. the deviants turn their dead eyes toward their stump dripping blood and point to the air above it. it is no use. the ultimate punishment.

There is only Faygo. No milk, no beer, no liquor has graced us in decades. There is only the artificial taste of Faygo. No one even likes it. You take a drink.

A small child tries to fold a paper airplane. He looks down and is upset to see a Ford truck, folded perfectly. It is an F-150. He tries to make an airplane again. This time he folds a Model T. He begins to cry.

“The water is clean!” Cries Flint mayor Dayne Walling. Brown water with sediment still flows from our taps. “The Flint River isn’t polluted anymore!” He insists nervously. Beads of sweat form on his brow. He clutches a bottle of Evian water in his sweaty hand.

The potholes move and grow at night, they consume cars and children alike. My father had to drive to Detroit last week. ‘Beware of the potholes,’ I warned him. I haven’t seen him since.

The sirens are tested every first Saturday of the month. You hear the sirens, but realize its only Friday. Its not the sirens, but children screaming instead.

The Detroit Red Wings never stop playing. There is a game every night. This has been going on for years and the players miss their families. Please let the Red Wings rest.

A body is pulled from the Flint River one hazy morning. The distant sound of Dayne Walling can be heard over the wind, “The water is clean!” He cries. The body resembles you.