Max-Grande Latte & the Extra Cheese

Friends, rapists, one eighty sevens, lend me your ears, and I will see if you're really just bitchy queers.

Am I to think or to blame in any type of shit that gets me just pissed off, quite more than a little bit? Indeed.

I want to get a discount at the door, these rich swine "on Darwin's waiting list" types are causing me to get insane in disdain, not to mainfest all damn Hain and no juice left from the brain.

Paranoia is still creeping in as the smoke continuously encircles any part of the landscape known as my head, eyes no exception as well...feeling heavier to keep open with each passing moment.

But in staying awake your brain is at least partially in function. In the dead-land state, unconsciousness while still alive, the bone settles into the ashtray called the cerebral cortex creating either no visions at all, or dreams that are sick nightmares coming back to haunt you- re-runs of old dreams storming in return in cameo fashion onto the new newtwork sitcom- shit dreams and fuck them up the only way my mind can:

Give me one more thing to do, the others got messed up shooting blue.

Life seems to be a whole lot more entertaining when it is all on the big screen (I'm dead, therefore I am).