Andrew Dice Clay looking mother fucker is in it deep with the wrong people.

He loses another hand and half his stack of chips it took him days to build up.

He grabs his chest and stumbles outside to a very empty street.

Collapses

____ rushes over after wandering what it's like to pass out face down in a gutter during the PEAK of many hallucinogens kicking in at once.

He tries helping the downed sack of potatoes and doesn't recognize the 3 Mob Jockeys coming for their Stpud.

The downed fella grunts "Don't let them take me, please" and the tripping ____ is pulled off him.

"Check his pulse"

____"He's dead."

"Check again"

____"He'll still be fucking dead!"

"Alright smart guy, maybe he is. Maybe you did it. You announce em dead, you take over his responsibility"

The 2 minions take the signal and grab the fella whose now got a calm excitement about him.

All the times _____ tripped balls before this he wasted them, couldn't put his heightened senses to the test and left the journeys feeling it was time wasted.

They approached the entry of the building & the automatically opening door only go about 45 degrees before locking out.

The 2 minions turn him and he looks over to the potato sack of heart attack that's dusting himself off and waving goodbye to him right as a foreign ambulance slams their breaks, hit him, and piles him in to the back before checking something off a clipboard.

The lights in the buildings entries were flickering but something got them all to work in a moment and their bright florescents made shutting his eyes feel like the proper thing to do.

there's a smell in the air that doesn't mean anything

paired with a blank expression that has an emptiness to it that exposes the bleak present "That's All Folks" that undertones the moment-to-moment even when the thing just started

A primal thoughtless state of being that once would've had meaning and enjoyed even, now, lacking

This smell

Possibly couldwould go away if breathing only through the mouth

But them it would find a way to be tasted with every breath

And holding it in for a moment of sensory peace would be the only respite when avoiding the source for why

sure you could hold the breath at an exhale to further keep it all

the smell

Away

from there though the only place to go is either bringing it back into you and allowing it to further taint the air the lungs the mouth the nose the senses you can morph thoughts into

Or

die (God willing you have the willpower & mental fortitude)

to prove

What

Left home before eligibility for draft by a couple years

Boot camp was hard but not hard enough

1 lucky stray caught me in the back of the head

more blood than tears would be shed

Shot up into the sky and had a view of Earth only astronauts would come close to getting

Earth spins one direction while my view spins the other

Hopefully this time, I get to be someone who doesn't fight the emptiness an absent father left with an infantry of barely post-pubescent pawns that perpetuate policy patriotic seat warmers propagate

Behold!

Our device allows the user to pinpoint certain memories

And, in no certain terms, experience ANYTHING for the first time once again!

This can only be done 1 time for any given thing BUT we assure you

It WILL be the first time the user experiences that thing by all measures.

*IF you find this device isn't working for something,

you already used it for that thing.*

My roommate's a writer.

2 types of people exist that fascinate me and it's rarely the type that brings up having gone to Harvard,

nor the type that "writes"

My roommate, who isn't either of those 2 thing but proclaims to be one of them

Is the type of "writer"

to think it's better to have written than to write.

"So is it better then, to have busted a nut than to Be busting a nut?"

We both remember the time I walked in on him prematurely and forget all the times a mid afternoon nap was walked in upon.

My friend, the roommate, is the type of writer that makes me wish I'd been warned when learning how to read. .

He's the type I both sometimes wish would just let the self involved misery consume him and finally just FUCKING DO IT

And

The type that after 3 or 4 rough drafts later, (dozen) the suicide note left would be so... Just..

Had it by miracle not become a pile of mush from its own self stroking ejaculate,

And by another miracle not been eaten by his invisible unpotty trained feline fuck tard demon spawn pet he pretends doesn't exist since cat's aren't allowed here,

Then

That suicide letter/ essay/ picture book

Would be so immediately insufferable that the crayon dustings and font changes alone- the headache from the eye roll that could not would not be contained from the first glance at such a Pompous post-mortem page of self pitying

But I digress

My friend, the WrItEr

Is certainly one of the reasons I shit blood like It's something I'm good at

That fly just evaded the dog's multiple attempts to chomp it

It was about 15 seconds in our time

2 ish minutes in dog time

Flies live 1 day give or take

In other words

That fly spent about a month of its life avoiding being that bitches chew toy while I watched since I didn't pay for no ads

Deal.

If piranhas can survive on salad you provide from the garden you feed chicken wing bones (grinded up into powder mixed with the dirt) and

IF you can get them to not eat your flaccid penis for 27 minutes

[Provided on 24/7 footage of the agreed length_duration does in fact prove the diet was 101% pure vegetable that was fed +/ ingested by the piranhas who were previously, before date of acquisition, was purley human OR pig but no more than 33% pig. Then]

Upon the unscathed (no blood can be flowing when placed under warm to hot water for 3 minutes post-piranah penile exposure) Penis

I will deem you, thereafter the previous conditions are declared and agreed to be more than reasonably sufficient

the "Bigger, smarter BUT far less sexy

-MAN!"

AND both hands will be shaken at the same time while saying it