Monday, May 29, 2006
Out of the Cellar
Holy crap what kinda hellhole is this place? I was just over at the local Hooters, drinkin a frosty one and getting my grope on, if you know what I mean (wink). Would you believe there’s a daycare center right next door to the Hooters? I’m not kidding. Real classy suburbia yah got here bro. Oh yeah, H is off in the corner crying. I am Skippy’s complete lack of surprise. Something about a small tornado. 0h will ya shut up already! Next thing ya know he’ll be putting on, ho no you don’t, not Dashbored Confessional!!!!! Fucking EMO.
Where’d that cool chick go? She at least had some metal I could listen to and not some stupid fucking EMO whining. Hey I kinda dug her man, she was kinky. What the fuck did you do? Oh there he goes into the bedroom and he’s hiding under the bed. Good, now I can change the music. Hmmm I got some Lightning Bolt (Lightning Bolt are the proof of the existence of God) or maybe some Melvins. Oh wait there’s some Big Black mp3s sitting on H’s harddrive. Now that’s some Old School shit. I wish he had some Iron Maiden or Slaughter but he’s too erudite for that I guess.
Oh hold up kids, he’s now shrieking about something from under the bed. H shrieking in the bedroom is not something unusual, he might be super lame but one thing I gotsta give props to muh boy H, he’s a stud in the sack. It’s all about giving pleasure baby.
Okay I’ll bite, lemme go see what the fuck is going on. Hold on to your nads (if ya got em) for a sec......
Look at some pr0n while I’m away.
Bwahahahahaha! That’s fucking hilarious though H doesn’t think so. Somebody left a wee little present under the bed.
Just lookie. lookie.
Oh my sweet mother of all that is smelly and disgusting, yes I think thats a moldy and dessicated dog poopie!!!!!! Though it could be vomit too, it’s hard to tell.
Well, I’ve downloaded all of H’s passwords onto my USB thumb drive. I’m gonna head out for a bit of wardriving with my uber laptop, use someone elses network to loot Hotmud’s bank accounts again, and then it’s off to Atlantic City for some Texas Hold Em and some hookers. This place is fucking depressing man, get yourself some better digs and I might not fuck you over the next time I show my mug.
For some strange reason I feel like saying that “it’s only after we’ve lost everything that we are free to do anything”. Hey, that’s pretty fucking ironic.
(From under the bed)"No it’s not. It’s smug self awareness.”
Hey, who asked you Mr. Smarty Pants!
Okies kids, smoke a bowl or three for me, I feel like destroying something beautiful. I’m sooooo outta here.
