The writer has drunken a slew of Dabs from Germany, while listening to some Irish clovers going by the name of The Strypes. These lads make my rooster crow. Kill shots galore. Fuck it. If you can’t dig these lads, than your ears are consecrated by something foreign to the writer. I am drunk, so if I piss you off or offend you, than it might be your problem, but really it might not be the writers. 🙂 These kids rock. If you disagree, than kiss my beans. Milburn is egg or sperm. Screw Monkeys without fire, although I do enjoy how their harry tits bounce in the sun’s ray without a bra. They have always fed this overgrown hairy assed insecure Frankenstein piece of humility of this universe quite well within reason. The Strypes are legit. Not that the writer here is any authority of any sort but by his own fireworks. With love an affection for all you tamed apes, I gift you, a wicked, dried snot picking flinging out a window in traffic, nasty pasta on the floor shoved down a toddlers orface, scum of any drain blocked at least partially by human excrement, shaggy carpets fouled by male youth burning Revelations of Roman hills, spanking puritanical asses with a staple sacrificed to a string of a lost ball board decent band!!!!! Fuck sense. These guys are good enough to die to. Funking punks are gonna be eating off silver while the writer is fingering chicken fingers from Costco. Fuck my windshield with your luggies. 🙂
Drunken and satisfied. Family circle is intact. I have missed on so many vibrationists and what all us apes have been schooled to see success as. Feel this all the way to your marrow or not. What is on the other side taste like sound…. See for yourself or read thousands of years old scripts for the play some long bearded authority has cascaded for us all. Shit, drink or smoke, leave the needles to the professionals. This stuff is top shelf. enjoy and love. Love beyond what the word is taught to mean. There is more. Dont trust me. Fuck trust me last. Trust your center, if you can find a center….