Warning label: This column was written mere hours before deadline Wednesday. It is bound to be as dumb as the writer looks.

First: I was leaving a Walmart the other day when some worried looking middle-aged philosopher like me said out loud, and I quote, “Fo shizzle.”

I didn’t even know for sure what that means, fo shizzle, but it sounded like something that would go good on the Hill —The Hill being hip young lingo for Richmond Hill.

Fo Shizzle on the Hizzle, Gizzles. Go get your dizzle on the tizzle and find you some zizzle before it’s too late to gorizzle.

If you don’t, your zizzle will be wizzled, and nobody wants wizzled zizzle up here in the Richmond Hizzle. That’s because we already got enough wizzled old dizzle around hizzle.

We want fresh new zizzle.

Upscale zizzle.

Exciting zizzle. The kind of shiny sparkly supersonic zizzle that winds up getting four-page spizzles in upscale magabizzles.

Note to readers. According to an online dictionary, “fo shizzle” means “for sure.” Snoop Dogg or somebody like that invented it around 2004 and I’m just figuring it out.

But hey, I still like it. I’m thinking we need more things that are “fo shizzle” in our world.

Onward: That particular middle-aged white guy had a belly the size of a Volkswagon Beetle hidden in a Roll Tide shirt. His hair was sticking everywhere and guessing by the look on his face he might’ve had gas — which could’ve explained the Fo Shizzle comment.

If I recall correctly (he was going in as I was leaving), the man was wearing shorts and jogging shoes that probably had chili-mustard stains on them.

Us philosophers like chili dogs with mustard on them, and if we drip some of that chili mustard on our shoes, well, shoes gotta eat too.

Speaking of college football...

Pembroke Mafia: Football season is right around the corner and B.J. Clark, the Don Corleone of the Pembroke Mafia Football League, is mad at me for wasting too much good newsprint on the kerfuffle between Richmond Hill and Bryan County.

I admit, it was taxing.

Trying to cover it was like I woke up in the third grade and back in the Army in my jockey shorts trying to figure out how it was I went from being a runty editor to taking a college algebra final with a broke pen while a zebra kept asking me what the answer to No. 5 was.

After it was over, B.J. sent out a couple fussy emails last week saying what should’ve happened is that Richmond Hill Mayor Russ Carpenter and Bryan County Commissioner Noah Covington, who probably has lots of mustard stains on his shoes, should have settled it man-to-man, like our Georgia state legislators. That means wearing dayglo tights and the smell of Nair in the morning, and a steel cage match with the winner getting to set whatever millage rate he wanted.

That’s how it works in Congress, too. They just sort of push each other around a while, then a senator from Florida says “wooooo” like Ric Flair and flexes a bit and then a senator from Georgia stands up and says “I’m the cold blooded sausage maker” like The American Dream Dusty Rhodes and the next thing you know corporations worth $10 billion pay less taxes than I do.

That reminds me.

Don’t tell anybody, but B.J. is a liberal Democrat.

He likes to pretend he’s not on his social media accounts — B.J.’s Facebook page looks like he’s president of the rap group NRA — but that’s Navy training the way they used to do it when men were men and Popeye was a sailor. If you can’t blind them with brilliance, baffle them with mustard stains. Just drive safe in the meantime. It’s getting nuts out there, fo shizzle.

Whitten is editor of the News.