Ain’t it funny when you discover that he wasn’t really where it’s at?
Ah shit, I’ve had too much to drink and it was so nice outside today, and this morning I posted about calories and got more views than I got in months, and almost beat my record, which isn’t so impressive really anyway, but fuck you for thinking that, you bastards.
But anyway, fuck the microverse, I’m going to eat fried chicken and lose the robots in the wake of a thousand dumb experiments, and conceal the whole thing in a grocery bag made for two.
Seriously, though, in the end we’re all just paper-mache that your little brother brought back in the Winnebago that he bought in Canada for a half penny and a smile and a proper donut, the kind with the several light speed dynamos that were illegal in that time of the month for ladies of your stature. And then, like Lot’s daughters, you realized the folly of your ways and sucked the dicks of angels, and tried for the life of you to get rid of your tuberculosis cough, and in the end you switched internet providers and called it a night. A cold, hapless night where the reindeer bayed at your front door and left you nasty messes, and ate the chains from your porch swing, and forever grounded your soul.
And then Tupac came to town and really felt what he was saying, and once in a while, well, the fort Breys windy what ankle trapezoids came through and swept the Oscars.