Death Cab For Coachie
Krenz and I were cruisin for pussy in his new PuneTang Cruiser. Those cars look so gay. Needless to say, far from the perfect car for pimpin mad hot bitches. Still, the Tressell likes a challenge. Now, everyone who rolls with me knows that when I'm the car, it's Metalica time. I don't give a fuck whose car it is.
So where was I? Oh yeah, fuckface is trying to mess with the stereo durring that bad assed part of Trapped Under Ice when Hetfield sounds like he's going reach into your grandmother's chest and pull her fuckin' heart out to watch it beat. The best part of the song, right? It get's the ladies wet everytime. So, I started slapping his face, and giving him purple nurples, which I know, is not necessarily a smart thing to do when someones driving, never mind the fact we'd been huffing paint all afternoon. Anyway, he kept bitching about how he wanted to listen to the new Mike Jonze. Which I can understand, because that mushmouth sounds almost as retarded as he does. He really gets all lispy when he get's upset. This one game against Florida, he threw like three interceptions, and he's all like "Suffran Suckataf, Coach. I'm stho sthorry, Whaaaaaaa." What a little bitch. Besides, his shitty stereo has no bass, and we'd just look like a couple of lame-asses trying to be all gangsta. How are we gonna hit on chicks like that? I got a rep to maintain, here. I'm a community leader.
Yeah, so Long story short - all of a sudden there's a fluffy little tabby cat right in the middle of the road. The cutest little guy with big yellow eyes and fuzzy feet. So i slammed on the brakes like and grabbes Krenzie by the back of the head and slammed his mongoloid mellon right into the dash. We could have killed that beatiful, little kitty. I also [accidentally] elbowed him right in his already broken nose. Nobody'g going to make me accidentally hurt a kitten. but the whole time I saw my whole life flash before my eyes: learning to ride a bike, naked fishing trips with Father Malone, my first black eye, playing catch with one of the guys that my mom called my uncle, my first crush, doing the elephant walk at frat parties, killing a man, the cold, cold, chill of necrophilia, crabs, killing the crabs, killing again, the sound of a human skull cracking in a vice, the first time I wore silky panties, speedballs, my wedding night, crabs, national championships...
It was trippier than that time I did peyote with a buch of real live injuns. I really think I need to put things into perspective and do the things I really enjoy. So this week after the big game, Jimmy's gonna have a little time away for himself. I'm going crusin'. So, any of you hot chicks in town with nice cans and a decent crapper, who want to be Entered by the Sandman, come rock out with my cock out. Hop on in and find out who the Master of Puppets is.