Liars and Triflers and Beers! Oh, Shit!

Dear Lord, how did I get here? Good question! I drink like the old folk, “Dude, how about a toke?” By all means, clear the tension. Hell, blow that fucker away. Because, have mercy, I’m drowning in it – I just want to succeed. But all of my good thoughts are leaking out in nosebleeds. I swear it was here! “You dirty liar! Your heart was never there.” Oh, boy. Here we go again – Flying down “I’m a Dick Road.” But my brake lines have been cut. That’s fine because your uppercut was lethal. Any sign of a soul is now aching and sore. “Welcome to flight 11, belts buckled and – sir, please put down that whore.” I think I can fly. You laugh but I do it all the time. It is an art where only the big-brained can assume battle stations. Nuns with nunchucks and puns with drug problems, a stranger with the power to spell danger – What? Yes, please stick that needle in my arm and call it a good time. Load it up, cock it back, and pull that motherfucker. Watch it spray and see a masterpiece form before your eyes. I’d love to see the show with wide eyes and my ass so far forward, there’s no point for a chair. Alas, I go for the hair for leverage so I can get each and every thrust in like I’m answering a prayer. By Aaron Goldenberg