You Could Find Me In The Streets, Even In A Drought, My Mattress Is Full, Why Shouldn't I Be Out?

Degrees won't mean shit when we're eating each other, man. When we're, when we're fucking burning our CHILTRIN to stay warm in a post-9/11 dystopia. Mannnnnnn. BURN YR CHILTRIN. On to blackout. I suggest you do likewise. Who's to say there's enough left?

Live Through This.

It is inadvisable to black out with yr Mac out. Yet, it could be argued that it is equally as foolhardy to nod out with yr rod out.

Niggas just tryin to scam on some craw, Breau. From downtown. Nothing to say really. Nothing to report broh craw lee. Real shite.

We Are Baltimore.

I can feel the ludacrity leeching into my lymbic system. Subcutaneous seepage that lets me know I'm still here. But for fuck's sake! Danny Glover beatin' the shit out of a Predator?! How you gon' sleep on that?!

Why Do You Overdo It?!

WHY KNOTT?!

Children Should Be Scene And Not Herd.

I have a disturbing imagination. If I could draw, I would make art. I would make a sketchbook out of the things I dreamponder and I would call it art. I would sell the art to make money, which would allot me the time to create even more sketchbooks. I would become known in various circles for my art, which I would be making money off of. If I could draw.

"Metallica. Meadowlands. '92. Front Row. Shoulda Seen It Bro. Put My Tongue Down This 16-Year-Old's Trote!"

Bill Hicks doing Bill Hicks.

For you bitchbabies, substitute Debbie Gibson and Tiffany with Hannah Montana and uhhh, I don't know, some other OVERexposed, UNDERaged cunt that every hetero American male secretly wants to humiliate sexually.

Taboo SNAFU!?

It'll be o.k. Maybe you can justify the depravity in your mind with your countdown-to-18 clocks and your fantasies of snorting lines off her back-tat in one of the stalls in the Viper Room, then spitting into her gaping asshole and shooting her a smile that says, I'll always be here for you. When she's 18 of course.

You are no better than me.