|half'a pound'a heroin, half'a pound'a treacle, that's th' way th' money goes, out comes th' evil
||[Feb. 12th, 2005|06:44 pm]
|||||gonna get'cha o/~||]|
|||||Mindless Self Indulgence [your problem now]||]|
okay, so i finally figured out what th' fuck is wrong with people on th' plate.
NO ONE UP HERE HAS SEX.
an' y'know, it's like... i realized why we're all in poverty, an' so fuckin' MANY of us, an' how we still manage, fer th' most part, t'stay upbeat 'bout bein' in shit-street. 'cause we fuckin' ENJOY WHAT WE HAVE. all we really have is ourselves, each other, lots of free time. so we fuckin' live it up, we fuckin' enjoy what little time we have an' THAT, m'friends, is EXACTLY why we have a population 100 times more'n on th' plate.
i went through half m'fuckin' list an' there's NO ONE. i mean NO ONE so far who'll even give me a look. they're all stuck up fuckheads, too good fer slum-shit, even if i live plateside now. so yeah, let's ignore that little bugger. good, good, good. fuck that.
so i resorted t'flatterin' secretaries, which only works... 'bout four minutes at a time. an' i already knew this, i guess, 'cause th' TWO TIMES i tried drinkin' at th' bars up here, no one even LOOKED at me. no one fuckin' goes out t'drink an' meet people up here. it's all whinin' int'a beer, weak drinkin' sonsabitches, angry housewives an' anal retentive businessfucks.
y'ask 'bout th' slums, why there's so many whores everywhere, why we're all in everyone's faces, why we don't care who'r where half th' time. we know in this shithole that all we got is what we're made fer. havin' sex. fuckin'. makin' love. it's all th' same, an' we know sooner'r later everyone breaks down'n needs some. business jerks up here prolli get off on paperwork. bet someone's gotten caught humpin' a copy machine. i bet, i bet, i bet.
but y'know. lots'a important people come down t'th' slums t'get laid. we're cheap, an' good, an' we'll keep our mouths shut. it's hilarious, seein' workin' stiffs in new clothes they fuckin' threw int'a mudpuddle'r somethin' thinkin' it makes 'em slummy. god, we laugh so hard. but there's one'a day, at LEAST that comes wanderin' down like he's grade-a slumshit. 'specially in th' market. hoo boy.
but man oh man. if half'a 'em would jus' COME DOWN every once in a while, like friggin' TSENG maybe, why, i wouldn't have't'deal with 'is PMS. he'd be SATISFIED an' not take it out on everyone else.
memo t'self. hit on people fer tseng too.
second memo. 'cept lena.
ONWARD AN' OUTWARD!