My cars...plural people are down for the count like Russel Brand at a bukake party. Yeah so I'm gonna pull a Russel Crowe sans the small penis....and beat some ass after I drink half the bar and shoot up with fourteen dirty needles that I got from odd jobs operating table. And this time no bath salts or jungle fever this motherfucker is made of concrete and it turns out its just an illusion anyway since I couldn't get laid in a aids ward.
There's your rant so get on your knees and play the runs cause I want some shit to get done, odd sexual innuendo and bend you over parties *NOT YOU MAC* Yeah so don't live on pasta and fried chicken with your peperoni nipples with onion ring anal piercings and corn dog dingle berry dildos anymore alright? So back to my cars? Yeah I hope they get fixed since I'm poor in all but soul, OK there I'm bankrupt but you didn't need to know that....I'm like Frankenstein with a good guy doll and Its head's chopped off and its got a ruptured appendix...but I didn't have the insurance to take it to the hospital because my car was on bricks in the back with three feet high weeds and your gonna say what happened to him....i thought this shit was some semblance of normal now? NO, no normal fell down the stairs then Gene Simmons put on his fedora and tied up Richard Geres balls and licked his asshole. Put that on dancing with the stars you motherfuckers........so run it down.....do some drive bys.....shove some foreign objects in your holes....shoot up in your toes...ear ache your eye fuck it take the glass one out put it in your ass and see if you can see you flakes, you can always call them eye boogers later.