|SuperBad. (standard:poetry, 271 words)|
|Author: Finn McKool||Added: Jul 02 2002||Views/Reads: 1765/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Back in black ;)|
2002-07-01 - 4:10 p.m. Super Bad. My minor maniac-depression has temporarily swung a tad in t'other direction. I'm in a fresh dress shirt, and cool, comfy khaki's. I've had a shower. I need a cigarette. I'm gettin' up on pay day and I got a couple of bucks in my pocket. It's amazing how much better you feel after a picture of hamilton and jackson wander into your wallet, and you've had a chance to consume your favorite board of fair from your favorite delivery sandwhich shack (and I do mean consume, that sandwhich effused me like a blow job). I feel more like me again. Finn with the double n. The wide brim and the crooked grin. Swingin' his pen Like Doc Holliday. I'm yo' Hucklebearer, write for blood? that's just my game. What's my mother fucking name?! Let's toss a few back and blow some shit up Let's dance in the middle of Main St. again Oh twist again like we did last summer. Twist again (on my bed, covered in sweat in the candlelight, while my neighbors argue, and my roommates smoke out, that's why we didn't go to the bar). That's right kids, I'm not feeling quite as complacent. Not quite as adjacent to a rain cloud Not quite as if I've been watching David Hasselhoff all day. I'm not feeling so anaestithized. So where da party at? Where da bitches at? Where da beer at? Where we meetin' at? Lemme grab my pimp hat the big brown brimmed hat my big bad wolf hat and fuck all that Back into the night To howl again. Fuckall. Tweet
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