Saturday, July 23, 2011
On the first big road trip for the bus! So far we have made it from denver to buena vista twice and now Ol shoot and i are on our way back from a top secrete trip to an unknown location in the northsouthern united states, in a land stolen from the Russianese to pick up the stickiest of the ickiest. Once the contraband has been acquired we will hide the bricks in the fuel tank and sell our rimes for top dollar at the flea market disguised as russian nesting dolls and let grown men loose control abusing substances known as spit #thissongissick. Ear drums working half speed cant keep up, needing water rest and a luna bar resorting to holding a change filled cup. Puff Daddy, P-diddy, Diddy, or Daddy threatens young lives with death for in exchange for youth suffrage in 04, but the youth deny allowing bush to continue a search for a towel in the sand box, sand box in a distant neighbors yard, not the cool neighbor with the muscle car, but the dick head with a pool which he never swims in, and a diving board which cant support his shamoo sized whale tail. His wife drives an outie, like the belly button, windows deep like the president, wheel gap like strahans toofs, a stuck up broad drinking tall carmel machieto, half calf, splash of nutmeg, room for low fat soy whip, 4 crushed valliums, all in an eco friendly corn composting container that does more harm than good. fuck bitches get money shouted her sandbox owning husband as he shoos away the tiny tim from the blue lagoon of darkness and death, That pool is for me, little bitch. Sandbox man buys my spit at fair market value, as determined by coffee companies; 4 cents an hour is a fair wage but 3 cents is too cheep, oh and tell that little kid dont let his do do covered hands touch the outside of the bag. His wife is hooked on my drugs.