Don't worry you are not the only one; I too was tricked into leaning all the way back in a Lazyboy. And of course at first I was scared but later my fear turned into rest and high comfort levels. These are the perils of life and the comforts of our own mind and one should never be afraid to recline the chair.

This is why I had to go to France because I heard you can get some sweet prostitutes and crepes at the international whore and pancake house (La Maison de Putain et Crepes Internationale). I was so excited I started dry humping everything to the music of Popozao and I didn’t even get tired one bit, cool right? Well with all the tension building up it wasn’t a surprise that I got stopped at customs on suspicion of drug trafficking.

“What is this?”

“…that’s my walkman wrapped in plastic and covered in Vaseline”

“Okay then explain these pellets we just pulled out your ass”

“…duh batteries… where am I supposed to put them in my bag so the terrorists can get them? huh is that what you want, terrorists? big scary terrorist with batteries and knives…. Hey I think this guy wants big scary terrorists!!!”

“Settle down nobody wants terrorists I’m sorr..”

“Faggot”

“….(sigh)… I’m sorry, soo, you can go should we put the batteries back in your ass sir”

“It’s the only place they will recharge… so yes thank you”

I finally made it to Paris but I had nowhere to stay and the batteries took up most of the room so I had no pocket money. That’s why I traded my walkman and some dirty newspapers for a hobo’s fur jacket. Now I know what people might be thinking “hey wont that make you hot and don’t hot people get AIDS (for instance Africa, the entire of Africa)”. Well I had to risk getting hot AIDS in order to make some money. The jacket was only so the prostitutes would respect me and I could start ballin pimpin hard/ pimpin hard/ pimpin hard.

It was late at night and I was Corey Hart’in it (*song* sunglasses at night p.s. if you download this song make sure it is the original 1983 copy) time was passing which meant the fat bill fold (money wrapped in either a rubber band or money clip) I gained from selling poontang (pussy) was burning a hole in my pocket. Everyone knows where you go when you got maaaad chedda cheese (Cash) you go to Willie-M’s (Wal-Mart) and buy your self some ill Dickie’s clothing. But something was odd about this French Wal-Mart and it wasn’t the smell, I know it wasn’t the smell because I eat a lot of Whoppers and those things stink like B.O. so I’m used to it. Plus I did this chick once and she smelled a bit but I finished like everything was cool but it wasn’t she really smelled. Anyways what I noticed was there was nothing but old people working there and then this French guy lets call him Guy told me something…

“Uhh Unfortunately uhh young uhh immigrants uhhh don’t get to work in France”

“What you mean immigrants cant get low paying Wal-Mart jobs…that’s crazy so then who do you spit on?”

“Our women”

“Oh well in that case Guy you should go to hell because a wise man once told me French people should go to hell the end Guy… hahahahaha you should have stopped listening but you didn’t so I win ahahahahahaa oh and I love Freedom Fries"

Turns out Guy knew a lot of people because later on that week him and a million others started marching and they didn't stop until I apologized by saying "no they are not freedom fries they are french fries and Guy is the cutest boy in all of Niece"

John Travolta flies his own commercial Boeing 747 and you are telling me Scientology doesn’t rock… you my friend are a Communist.

¶ 6:31 PM 1 comments