| May. 14th, 2007 @ 04:00 pm \ |
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dear cary,
it would be in your best interest to stop drinking, stop falling for, then pining over unattainable girls, stop using cocaine, stop eating whopper king, stop faking it, stop, collaborate and listen.
moving north, with the shinewalds so i can do nothing but drink and do cocaine whilst pining over girls and eating whoppers....
in other news, diana's gourmet pizza, fucking awesome, i dispute their "best in the city" claim, based solely on the fact that casa grande is better, but goddamn i do declare!!!!!!!! spicy and tangy and tender and chewey and infinite pizza wisdom flows.
Caution: whining....
i miss having a companion, someone to go through the day with as a team with. not just someone with whoom i can have sexual relations with without having to buy $50 dollars worth of drinks and pretend like im someone i am not. i mean, i feel pretty abandoned right now. eric has his 38 year old lady friend, bishop stole dr chods, roomie went nuts. my old love done left me, my new love wont be mine cause she loves my new roomie. and im forced to go it alone. not all bad mind you, but i am not the person i want to be. at least i know that, i know what i need to do to make it happen, but alas, whatever, my discomfort in my situation is only overshadowed by my apathy.
long story short, i cry alot these days, with not end goal in mind, i thought this ethereal feeling would be a boon, but its becoming a burden cause i cant seem to put 2 feet on the ground anymore. holy shit how things change. used to be my solid nature was who i was, but we shouldnt make the mistake of defining ourselves during the game,
this is about the last 8 months of my life, through heartbreak, rock and roll, and the drug game
50 bucks please, for the trifecta,
little fucked i know, but i will betcha,
you never ever even left your own damn sector,
wear a tshirt calls me the bikini inspector
but got a little agressive i nearly wrecked your,
swim trunks, injected with the same junk
i try to stay silent but i comeout like a lame monk,
lame priest, lame duck
press pause its too late the games fucked
shes holds the parasol out to try and keep the rain tucked,
under the rug, teeth elongating, now theres fur on my mug
you've made a bug,
when you mix a boston terrier with a mini pug
or just some high tech surveilence equipment,
its been a month since the last 10 pound shipment,
gravy train, running on biscuit wheels,
remember that first joyous squeal?
but shit got too real, now theres 20 large lining some dirty cops pocket
and i stay up all night selling smut and vibrating rockets
dick rambone, its not size that concerns me,
but the motion in the ocean and the threat of a good attorney.
healthy, hell no, but that never stopped this smoker
i'll never have that life, but dear god i'll try for something exactly like it |
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