Yo, this shit is fucking HARD.
I’ve been in the library for about a million goddamn hours writing a paper on the most incredibly fucking ridiculous shit in this entire motherfucking earth. I’ve learned one thing in the past 12 hours, after all this reading and writing and thinking and shit. And it’s that marginal demand is for assholes.
My back hurts from frisbee. My back hurts so much that I can’t read coherently. Have you ever tried to read complicated shit when your back is hurt? It’s upsetting I don’t enjoy it. My back was hurt. And my feelings were hurt.
There’s way to much to do. I ate an entire thing of bread. That shit was so hardcore. I want to bust into that Shredded Wheat. Eat 10 lbs the healthy way. If you never had shredded wheat without the frosting on it, you should try it. It’s delicious. Nutritious. It’s the ill shit. Way better than Cheerios, and Rice Krispies put together, and all the other cereals I was about to eat. Nutrition is one of my pastimes. Check Facebook. It’ll confirm it.
This is perfect.
Mirsky is responsible for all that jargon on shredded wheat.
But there’s a real moral to this stupid incoherent crap.
That sometimes I find this sort of impossibly inarticulate jumble inexplicably more fulfilling and organic than I could the best writers in the world. I get more utility from it.
Maybe my values are sub-par. I’m cool with that.
I just got done smoking the freshest of the Purple People Eaters (TM) brand of tobacco. And it was fucking marvelous.
Throw up the set,
Dukes of Sizzurp