How Many Shopping Days?
It feels nothing like Christmas. And I don’t feel happy. I’m personally glad that the year is about to go out. Good riddance. I spit on 2003. 2004 can’t be any worser. Well, it can. But I’m hoping it won’t. I’m hoping I get lucky. Win the lottery. Find a better job. Get a new car. Move to a better neighborhood. Get better telephone lines. Find a bag full of dough no one really wants. Adopt a long lost bag of ? unwanted and abused.
Here’s hoping a fine hot rich chick walks by and finds me irresistible. Wants to have my baby. Give me money. Be my love slave. Come on, baby. Get me high. Fill me up. Let me live the good life. I got to live the good life. Just once. A Hilton sister. Fuck a Hilton. Raise me. Leave me a large ass bank account. Make me feel shit like Halle in Monsters Ball. Give me Halle. Rub on yourself while I check the merchandise like Billy Bob. Make me Billy Bob. That brother lives right. He lives good. I’ll take Billy Bob Thorton.
Angelina be my baby. You can bring in any mutt you want. As long as you stop making out with your brother. You need to lick on somebody, lick on me. Make me smile. Goddammit, I need to smile. I hate to say this. But this shit has to end. I gotta get the fuck out. I swear. I swear. I’m this close to playing roulette with myself. A one man game of chicken. Rub on the belly of my next door neighbor. Feel the heat from the rush of blood to my face. Feel my heartbeat for the first time. Bust one for my nizzo, Malvo. Tell God I said, “What?” Fuck the man.
Fuck the man. I’m this close to going 70 on 30 and yelling FUCK THE MAN outside the precinct. Lynch my goddamn self. Make me smile, Angelina. Cause it’s getting close to Christmas. And I don’t have a tree up. Not real. Not plastic. No lights. Steal toys from charity chest. Download porn of your girlfriend giving head to the president. Watch Saddam comb the ticks out of his beard. Kill the mothafuckin’ man.
I’m kidding.
I joke.
Don’t want to be made an enemy combatant.
I live for the moment. And the moment fuckin sucks. Move to another moment. And the moment still sucks. Kill the mood. Change the channel. Feel the need for prayer. I know. I’m a pussy. Pussies always pray when the tough get going. And when shit gets good. We return to the devil. I hate the devil. But when you ain’t lovin’ God. You’re fuckin’ the devil. Or the devil’s fuckin’ you. And that mothafuckas got me givin’ it up doggy-style. Woof like a bitch. He said WOOF! like a beyotch. Bitch better learn to give it up. And stop the crying. And go with the flow.
Even though water’s coming down on my head. And the lawyers are summoning me. And I can feel the shit getting closer on my ass. I can feel the wind on the back of my neck. The shit’s getting closer. And I can’t do shit to stop it. The shit is getting closer. And all I can do is sit here and wait. Wait for that shit to hit me. And it’s coming. That shit’s coming. I feel that shit comin’. It’s coming. It’s already here. I can feel that shit on me. And 2003 is going out like a beyotch. And 2004 is coming. And that shit’s coming. And a part of me hopes I ain’t here when it gets here. Even though I know it’s already here. And I know I’m ramblin’. But that’s all you can do when that shit’s on yo ass. And you can’t do jack.
And I can’t do jack. So, I ramble. Cause that’s the only option. Outside of death. or silence. Whichever comes first.
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