on 12/03/2003 12:57:00 AM
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Introducing. . .
(Where its at like Beck, Kerry Wood, and Kerry Kittles: This is the the circle/oval of fire or if you want a lighter image, go picture an ivory heaven with fabric softner sheets of snuggle. This place is thumping via hard rock 70s with Queen squeezing the crap out of Another One Bites the Dust, We Will Rock You, Aerosmith telling me to Dream on like a big fat boisterous Brooklyn New York American named Lino who eats and runs a subway shop and never got interested in Eurasian politics, anthropology, ornithology (like Brooke the jean-skirted girl who was just asking to get banged) or the Chicago Bulls cause he used to like Broadway and all that crappy lil choir crap (maybe he was into church too) but that's goooooonnne like a 477 foot Sammy Sosa homerun bomb in Triple Play 2000. Either way, still dangerous (not fagoracious pants Michael Jackson dangerous) land for almost anyone to cross up and interpret. There's no tricks and giggles, but just plain old blood and guts thru grinding, crushing and crashing, not stabbing and shooting so throw those bitch-ass knives and guns away. If you do cross get ready for a cross check without a hockey stick with elbows, bones, and blood like my name was Bo Simmons and I was the dark bald guy in Varsity Whites, ahem I mean Blues. Here to stay to the very last sand grain of my fossil. You're not going to fuckin' move me cause I will poke you and stand my ground walking upright and straight and tall with a swagger like Jalen Rose even if you broke my legs which you probably could take out with one swift like a bastard-bessa hit. If you fuckin' try and bring your balls to this park against me, I will fucking slap 'em out with an NBA Street swipe. I call that "defense.")
Ya yo, what the fuck's going on ?
One moment in part. Then descrits. Glimpse to the pop at the Flippy pilippined out ehh . . . family gathering (nope no loose ugly bumping here, why the fuck did I bring that up I just hurt my head) Drinking wannabe uncles to the tears of their sweat, talking about sports any kind most especially that elitist bitch Chris sport tennis. Fasho, business as usual but p-o-p, pop ? He Alone. Not business Republican BrandonBMr.WachiSmith as usual. Like Raphy, Rammy's dad the wangineer (wan could stand for sad or the prefix to wandering engineer). Always like this ? The fuck, he's watching the kids. Same faces, same places ? Can't be wrong about that. Ha, hell yeah. People. . .But to reminisce over. . .he's an artist, what immi becomes an artist cause that's such an insecure way to score some buckos (buckos said in the way John Candy would have liked) left-handed too. . .friendly hah, but temper rises quicker than a slave's fever, fuse is like lightnining and kid can see it in his eyes though he doesn't see it much anymore. . .P-O-P still made it biotch (POP as in the pop the kid used to say when he was 4 in Chicago and thought nothing of it before he got brainwashed into pansy-ass "soda" or neutral, corpsoration-based "coke") enough for anything but everything. E L I M S
T E I U Q, quicktake-offkaboom. . .a flying wholly fuck. . .
Waddles cooking cleaning cooking cleaning cooking cooking cleaning, kid has lost track. And sometimes works. In that bumpy dumpy little south cent school. But still huggy and happy. : D Always excited ! Not Sahleeeeeeping ! : D Cooking cleaning cooking cleaning but still enough time for you. Grooming the wings like a primate with wi-ZZ-ings. ZZZZing ! Don't bump her, please, gas station asshole included. Cause kid really doesn't want to do something stupid to you like slash your face diagonally like tic tac toe with claws that only come out in rage. Not such a quick take-off, more gradual true n thru . . . : D. . .veeeeerrrrryyyyyyy preeeeeeetttttyyyyyy. . .bumpy bumpy flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
Tivities. Waddles and P-O-P see NBC. See Rodeoing. Tennis. Horse Racing. Drag Racing. Spy TV. Fear Factor. Dohg-eat-dohg. American Idle. Who Wants to Fuck My Geriatric and Bald Dad and What Old American Slut Wants A Ride on Him ? Kid wishes they wouldn't be so American, and thus be even way smarter and better than the average drunkie Filipino. Kid, Bumlers, plus waddles and P-O-P ne'er eat 2geth like it was old times always cause TV get in the way, but sha know, cha know, we know, so it be koo, like Dimacoo. . .movies cars, shits all cool yo, only onesss in the world. . .its cool. . .fuck you
And of course Bumlers doing jack crap. Lazy as usual. TV, Disney Channel, hey at least she's bold and enthusiastic about something. Observations in a syrupy happy voice. . .Ha Origami, now who da fuck does that. Butwhere are the sluts around her ? Why she almost always home ? Oh shit kiddies, she's almost the kid II. Giving her wings fasho too., : D Will bust neck, if returned besmirched. She's still getting nested cause this lil primate still isn't colored or hairy yet, her wings are still getting attached like suspenders to a hockey player's padded pant. . .
Family. Love Em. Thanks to them I grew wings and had the space to fly. Act 1 can motherfuckin' proceed now right ?
Labels: Other Chicago Sports