What are you going to be for Halloween. I'm going to be Jean Benet's killer or Andrew Cunanabananahands. Personally I'm just waiting to stuff a turkey with cyanide and give it to a homeless shelter. The thankful givings of a Gink. Tigers are going to win the World Series. And if they don't it will be just another reason for Detroit to shit themselves and start a riot. I'm sure a couple of people got mugged for their Ben Wallace jerseys by now. Chicago must be proud. Halloween is going to be wierd in Bellingham. It's going to be just like last night except all the bitches makeup will be caked on a little more. I don't understand college towns. I don't think I ever will. You come here and you feel liberated and free and you are invincible. You have all these new things to experience. College is just a whorehouse where you learn how to fuck someone in the ass with more precision or get fucked in the ass by 13 guys who need to learn how to shoot straight. The sex is great. The drugs are plenty and
Teachers are eyeballing your crotch for a nice heroin cannon to be shot at. If you aren't 21 you are biting at the grit salivating at all the smokers standing outside of the bar telling yourself, "I wish I could find someone to fuck in there and not remember them the next day." It's not even about having a good time. I sat and watched premadonnas talk about nothing. It wasn't even conversation. It was like three blonde girls speaking in tongues and each tongue had a tongue on the tongue that was talking. Of course there was that polo t shirt wearing motherfucker hovering over them wishing to god he could just pour champagne all over their breasts and rip his whitey tighties off and just fuck like rabbits in an orgy where clowns repel from the ceiling and he's just yelling at the top of his lungs because he gets to use clown makeup as ass lubricant. Now for something like that you need to pay 140 bucks for an art literature textbook 700 a month for dorm expenses and a million duckets to keep every woman you see satisfied with a shot of rumplemints. I'm not saying I'm totally bitter and not one of the people who fuck myself everynight, it just gets old when you cant escape the event horizon. Thats why I'm trying to go to a house party on Halloween and forget where I am for 26 hours. I'm sure a bucket of snails and a long line of cocaine from here to Bogata will be involved.
If you didn't notice already I'm right behind you.And on an ending note don't let the costume hunt tear your bones in half cause the reaper likes it when you kick the bucket as a whole component rather than a blitz of flesh he has
to sort out for the dude on the river Styx. If you get a chance you should rock out to Billy Joel's All for Layna. Yeah he's a homokemon but I didn't know he had the rock ballad in him.
And of course it wouldn't be in good Gink nature to leave you alone without
looking at a slut since that is all we can ever talk about these days.
Why can't we just be sober? Because that lyric sucks so much ass it makes me want to drink fifteen fifths of Canadian Hunter so I can recollect about the acid I'm going to take and forget the ruse of all the dominos I've had before me. Vicariously living out my fantasies through a World of Warcraft to fap on some polygonal hydroplane existent only in the memory of Jimmy Hoffa's putrid corpse. Lorca said it best," Dali I like men. I want to do them. Let me suck your pee pee."
Necro FapVampire Toe.
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