Ever feel like the some of the things that you do/say on a daily routine belong on a television show? I know that when I'm steadily cruising the dark demeaned streets of UCF, chucking eggs at runners and kicking over crotch rockets definitely give me the spunk I need to line MTVs pockets with hair gel and spike belt coinage. When you realize that you're not going to suck the liver spotted cock of a mini Ted Turner whose Spartan-like, lionhearted case of Alzheimer's will probably have one of you forget the sexual eruption that occurred in Mr. Cheese's suicide doored Lamborghini behind the Studio C Starbucks, you can finally ground your KB Toys' dreams and bask in the success of nothingness like the rest of us.
The one thing, though, that I cannot get out of my head, are the hordes of buzzards that use my technique of C4'ing the funny bone and write it off as their own humor. These little ferrets have no mind of their own, taking my monkeyshining and making it plankwalk into a pool of rhino shit. I see these little bastardos jock my style from the way I talk to the way I dress (kids really dress as half-baked as me, believe it), to the way I talk shit. If they could watch how I lay the proverbial "pipe" down, they wouldn't hesitate to have their bed partners calling them King Louis either. The way I see it, my humor is somewhat like a unicorn. Mythical, some people don't believe it nor can they believe it when they see it. In this world, there are people who will bring you down and transfuse your qualities into their own broken down, pathetic vessel. These are the individuals who would like to rip the hallowed horn off of my head and plant their Pennzoil smelling member right in its back door...the unicorn, not me. This basket of simpletons carry not one ounce of originality in them. Their idiocy safeguarding and shooing away any speck of on the trigger thinking, as a raincoat shields the bottom rung sleaze queen shooting a bukkake scene for her first breakthrough role right out of junior high.
I know I can't possibly be the only person who has their own fan club of dick riders. They don't even have to jock me...anyone who sees something new and immediately tries to imitate it/take it to the furthest extreme is a goddamn loser in my book. Suppose you listen to a certain artist/watch a certain sport that you are crazy about. The depression dwelling alley cat that we've been discussing is the type of mangy bottomfeeding slime that would, initially, belittle and badger you for even waltzing with the idea of listening to that artist/watching that sport. Pretty soon, when they see that a lot of people are into it, they themselves must cannonball right in the deep end, knowing damn well they forgot their Barney floaties. You know the saying...if you can't swim, then you bound to drizown. All of a sudden, you find yourself in the middle of these conversations with this sack loving sack (get it?), wondering how and why he/she managed to learn every chasm of information about whatever the fuck it is that you like so much within an overtime injected work week.
I don't know what to label this group of people...they bite styles and they have to seem interested in everything that their cohorts consume their time with. They have to feel on the top of the food chain when they wouldn't think twice about a grenade up their ass if I just convinced him/her it was hemorrhoids. The type of hatred I breed for this specified spectrum of seascum can be considered a cause for concern. It's the type of animosity to where I wish I could persuade them into believing loading your mouth with habaneros and not drinking water was the latest rage. The type of abhorrence to where I would go out of my way to toss my cookies by rolling around in the cinnabun encrusted bedsheets with a foodcoholic just to see them follow suit and fuck someone the size of the guy who died on Jerry Springer when they were forklifting his trailer-cache ass to a butcher shop.
If you were to look at this on the other side of the story and say "I don't know what you're so bitter over, they just want to indulge themselves with new life material", you clearly have not encountered one of these vamps of newfangled farce or had your favorite song/sporting event interrupted by facts about the band/team that you really couldn't give less of a shit about...maybe one of those misty rainforest shits...but thats it. Just one, quick poot. Nothing more.
Basically, get your head out of your ass. I have an almanac so I don't need a parrot to boot. Get your own jokes and stop saying nigga like me, I'm the one who's not even white. These people are walking fucking quagmires. Rid your life of them before they drain the sanity out of your feeble bones.
ps...everything I put on here is off the top of my head and most likely written before 11am. if some aspects dont make sense or some words are misspelled, kindly give me a fucking break. There is only one Ben Stein and you all need to worry about winning your own money, nahmsayin?
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