I went dancing last night. There were turds on the dance floor. Bummer.
On my way home my moped wouldn't go fast enough no matter how hard I flinstoned so I contemplated buying a big fat motorcycle until I realized that it would match my open hoodie with no shirt look I have been rocking ever since I got my six pack.
Speaking of my six pack, it looks really cool with the new scar of the Utah State Capitol I had scarified into my abdomen. Tattoos are for fags, scarification is all Tongan bro, step off and lob me a cooked pig neegs.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught comparing the danceable shoe slippiness of turds to traditional saw dust.
Your Eyeroll Inducing Pile of Snore,
Chris Tucker
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