Posted 2:08 PM by Alfred

I’m spoiled, like a little ho, the attention deficit syndrome in reverse that is my idiom has reached epic proportions to the degree of what the fuck ever.

I just wanna take everything I write and toss it into a burning oven of cavernous bitch mark jehosophats, but I don’t, I wanna save it all and submit it for the review of the most high commission on unnatural dogshit acres.

Sure yeah whatever great great sandwich. Thanks dave, say good nite gracie, good nite gracie, fuck you george, shove that cigar up your ass and meet me in the back alley for the drop of which we previously discussed.

Up to word count that equals 6,101 on the master thesis, which means I am like 12% or some shit like that on the way to fifty thousand werds. And then when it reaches 50 g’s I’ll call up the jurk storr and tell them, “hello this is Alfred pennyworth, except it’s really not, I’m just some asshole that calls himself the batman butler, and yeah, oh, um, by the way my real name is Clarence Shadowspawn, and oh on another note, I wrote a novel. For your review. For publication. What’s it about? Fuck if I know. Three dudes drive through the desert and fall asleep for a while and some weird old fart is like fucking with them and then some really typical type shit happens and then like the jurk storr calls and ok that part hasn’t happened yet and no the jurk storr didn’t call but you might wish they did after you finish, ha ha like you’ll really get past the first page, reading this crap.”

Nah, but actually I’m fairly happy with it so far. I look at it and I see like what people look at when they become happy from the things that they look at. And that’s a good thing. And then the jurk storr will call and tell me that you are the one millionth caller and even if your so called bitch ass book is the suckiest thing this side of the east side player’s association, well, fuck, we’re just gonna publish it anyway, cuz it’s be nice to famous rappers slash butlers that aren’t famous beyond their own bullshit self delusional horse cock sandwich backstabbing self inflicted desultory nonsensical ramblings.

One thing I like about my shit is that I think it would be quite difficult if not impossible for somebody to mock it or imitate it, I mean, like, how could you? maybe I’m wrong and an egomaniac, I mean, do I do like the same shit over again and then repeat it any way shape or form beyond just like spitting a whole bunch of random ass bullshit that is just sucking hard in the fashion of like windpipe abuse? It would be interesting to see somebody attempt to like pimp out my shit on like the snl tip like not necessarily ready for prime time but like trying to be me but not be me.

I was reminded of this issue and relevance thereof by a little experiment in blogging that 3rd leg has been up to.

So yeah it’s all just basically a load of bullshit all this crap I’m writing. If I were you I’d call up the jurk storr and get the contingent loaded up in the back of Lebron James’ Hummer and like head on over to lake Michigan and jump in that shit and like swim across to whatever the fuck is on the other side and basically like set up shop over there selling t-shirts promoting this shit cuz that’s the only way you’re gonna make a ducket off of it, and then only if you’ve got a master designer on your side like my homey who necessarily for purposes of non-disclosure policies both expressed and assumed, must remain nameless.

Like me.

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