quasi_sean

I want to see The Strokes--

So tell me how people eat pigs, for I have no idea anymore. For instance, I was once in New Orleans, and I followed one around as he walked in and out of bar after bar talking to transvestites who wore too much eye makeup and sang "Don't worry be Happy" but I was happy and Mr. Oinkers (his Christian name) and I went to Oz where we stuffed dollar bills into the strings of the sculpted men all the while he made eyes at me and I grew tired and stumbled out of the club and into the arms of a meth-addict who saw me into a cab where the driver resembled Wolfman Jack and he sped me to my hotel and I paid him Canadian money in exchange for little to no conversation about Ambien & Lifesavers. I tripped five times in the lobby and danced nude w/the luggage cart. I looked like Sid Vicious' and Fred Astaire's love-child and I napped in the elevator until March when the Spring air woke me to a time where Mr. Oinkers had sadly passed away.

update super soon