Thursday, April 01, 2004


I feel like Kenny Banya after an all-night fucking ovaltine binge. Ovaltine laced with angel dust and percodan, the high dosage shit. kool-aid in the walls style. Leaking faucets of un-ancient wisdom. Sheeeiitt, what a psychosomatic load of asscrack. But, serially, the banster might just have a little cup of cake for all of us that doubted a playa, I mean, shit, we’re just spouting off to the negasphere and he was an object of derision on the main stage, network fucking idiot box, el numero uno cosa en el televizeeyone.

I won’t even weigh in on this whole howard stern dillio thang just cuz it’s a horse and my name’s mr. ed, but serially, fuck janet Jackson. Fuck her straight to hell, with a burning carriage of oui magazines flickering and splattering embers of blackest darkness (great, shitbag, blackest darkness, then why don’t you have some of the coffee-est coffee, jerkoff), as it billows recklessly into the lake of dead souls.

But seriously, janet, fuck you. and fuck you again. Cuz, fuck, I mean, you fuck all this shit up, and blow up, and everybody else is fucked, and you just stick a fukn bathroom blower to your goddamm balloons of bestiality, and giggle, and fukn write a check to Tito, and call it a night, and we’re all left holding the fucking bag. Bitch.