Thursday, September 02, 2004

Howdy mein pards, the fun thing about your car not werking is that when you try to start it it goes chugga chugga bing bang pow except for the last 3 werds are a total lie.

Uh, drinkin heinies & rappin on the innernet.

Don’t you wish you were in my posse? You could be. Simply come to my seminar. You’ll have crazy bitches and like speedboats and mafia kingpins all up in your shit on a positive vibe and even a bad hair day will turn into a magical miracle.

You’ve gotta truss me on this one. Rollin with this crew is like, uh, like, shit, it’s like, uh, it’s phat. Phatter than, uh, a really phat barrel of extremely toxic chemicals about to roll down a hill & crush your spleen.

Ooohhh, I just got awarded a job, which means money in my pocket, which will go towards fixing my car which appears unfixable, which will go towards mortgage, towards electricity, towards credit card bill, towards, uh, water bill, towards, uh, the jurk storr, towards, uh, none of your goddamm business.

See, whut we’ve got here is failure to communicate. I’ve got my suspicions that homey the clown is sparkin doobs up in the hizzle when he should be here checkin out my, uh, flux capacitor &, uh, muffler bearing. Yup. Oh well, don’t talk down on a player’s name. Heard that one from, uh, jack lalayne? Yah, why not.