That's a cane motherfucker
I just had the awesomest dream of my life last night. No it didn't involve porno. No, it didn't involve dinosaurs. Maybe it involved both. NO! I'll just give everyone the general gist...
I found myself in a house, like this big ridiculous house, mostly marble, with alabaster and all manner of other intensely richified materials. Anyway, it was of georgian architecture, and from what I could see out the windows, we were in some kind of bayou. Thus I conclude the dream occurred in louisiana, that part of the country we associate with toplessness and extremely combustible cooking. This reminds me of german shit porno, which as always, has been a highly heated topic of discussion. It has been surmised that above and beyond bestiality, having someone spray runny diarrhea on someone else's face and or torso has got to be the most hilarious thing on the planet. BUT THAT IS NEITHER HERE NOR THERE. The important thing is, I was wandering through this obscenely ornate house, filled with all manner of lovely statues, friezes, and the odd servant whom would disappear the moment I noticed them. Here's where the dream gets awesome. It turns into a shootout. Spontaneously. Like seriously KABAM! So there's all these gents and ladies getting their lungs pierced and their pharynxs blown out and all manner of greatness, when, and I kid you not. THE DREAM GETS EVEN COOLER--AS IF BY SOME SORT OF DIVINE BOOMBOX, ALL AROUND ME ERUPTS WITH MUSIC, SPECIFICALLY MARTHA FUCKING WASHINGTON.
IT"S RAININ MEN, HALLEJULIA ITS RAININ MEN.....AMEN
So to martha washington, I procede to murder dozens of people execution style with a pistol. It was to date, the best dream I've had in months.
And it got me thinking. Why's martha washington gotta be so huge? If she wasn't huge I'd be all up in that, she's got the best voice ever, and 'it's raining men,' pure lyrical genius. She reminds me of a young me, so full of pep and vinegar,wanting to see men just fall to the sky into her waiting eyes and arms. The only difference is, when they fall from the sky in my song, they come crashing down at terminal velocity, splatting on the pavement in hideous plops, breaking limbs on telephone wire and begging to be killed as they slowly bleed to death. Ahhhhhh youth.
Reader Comments (3)
You fucking art history nerd. Didn't you graduate?
Das a quarter in your ear, beetch!