haha...come on

if i wanted to hear some skirt take stabs in the dark about business matters, i'd ask my wife to tell me about the sandwich market.

'ellow M8 - throw anotha shrimp on the barbie!

i pulled thru a child's quinceanera with the top rolled back on the cockpit - looking like a botched circumcision, throwing up gang signs with a young crack whore adorning the passenger side.

i only love two things:

i let the nine chop audibly...then strangely - look peripherally over my shooting shoulder to check my "six" with an uneasy feeling twisting my eyebrows to a concerned shape.

...they said my Aston Martin was ostentatious after i took the top off and drifted through a feminist protest in Austin, TX.

they could have just opened up a KFC there instead...

the sun never sets on my empire.

my coupe is steeped in grandeur and rich legend.

i whisked up to a funeral in a cake-batter white Telsa with some french model i didn't speak directly to, perched in proper poise on the passenger seat. she rolled down the window as we passed by in an achingly slow creep. "does anyone want some fucking money?" i said, as the model scooped around 14 thousand dollars…

i whisked up to a funeral in a cake-batter white Telsa with some french model i didn't speak directly to, perched in proper poise on the passenger seat. she rolled down the window as we passed by in an achingly slow creep. "does anyone want some fucking money?" i said, as the model scooped around 14 thousand dollars…

yes - thank you.

thanks, it's good to be home.

the undercover agent yanked up my Italian cuffs and saw for himself that i could afford my own bracelets. the lunar rays glittered strong in the diamond cuts and mesmerized the agent. i turned to face him - his mouth agape and pupils wide with bewilderment. i pulled a crisp thicket of banded euros from my lapel pocket…

neon frost glowing at the edges of my cinder block motel room window. i craned my neck to see the pink sign just outside my window blinking and flickering depressingly. an old tube television strained a picture out through static lines, as i sat at a small table next to the window and sucked up another white line.

in a moment of actual hallucination, i pressed my palms together and dove into a cool pool of cocaine. swimming about like scrooge mcduck with a wide smile carved across my face, i felt at home floating in the powder pool. suddenly i awoke to find that i had passed out while doing lines in the handicap stall at the…

Murduhh!

you have grossly overestimated the shit i give about any of this.

Hey Arthur - how do you feel about a recent online poll putting "counterfeiters" just in front of "molesters of crippled children" on the caliber of human spectrum by over 15k polled?