Secret Sesh

A minuscule amount of fun was had by two people. The other three died. Shame shame shame.

I think I'm just one banana peel away from covering my entire floor with banana peels. Imagine coming over and you're just like "what the hell are these banana peels doing cover the entire floor? I can't walk in here!" and then I come out dressed as a whole ass barrel of monkeys. I'd probably slip on the way there. Whatever, I'm going for it. Will you donate a peel to the cause?

Oh man. The problem with this podcast is that I have to keep the window open so the smoke cna go outside. And now it's cold. Brrrrrr. Ice cream man, you could be my best friend if you'd let me drive your truck. Choo Choo! Sometimes it's hard to tell if this is a podcast or autism.

I shit my pants today. It sucked.

If you so much as smell that Gatorade in the fridge, I'm going to be furious. That's my special Gatorade and how it came to be such:

I thought I might have sex- why, you ask? Well, I had no reason, really. Other than the wind. Which speaks to me in whispers upon gusts of pigeon coos. Regardless, I wanted to prepare for what laid ahead. I stopped at the grocery store. Upon entry, I not only grabbed rubbers, but a yellow Gatorade and a packet of hydration powder. That way, I wouldn't lose my electrolytes while making sweet sweet love.

When I arrived at the bar, I realized something that had been staring at me like a ten mile glazed donut. I spent all my money on the Gatorade. Balls!

I asked around, and a pear-shaped woman using a living scorpion as a hairpin, spotted me a 5 dollar bill. Crisp. Clean. I handed over the bank note to the barkeep and confidently uttered, "a beer for the brunette with boobs at the end of the bar."

"Cheapest beer we got is 7 dollars."

"Drats"

I handed the 5 back to the nice lady at the bar, who folded it back in my hands and said, "get yourself something nice, sweetie."

I bought a single hit of heroin from the man down the street on my way back home. Somewhere between the nod out in Washington Square Park and the coming to with my head in the freezer, I had mixed the electrolyte packet and Gatorade together in a glorious mix of hydration. Impressed with my foresight, I put the potion into the cold box for the morning- and guess who just finished heroin puking.

In all seriousness. Like all jokes aside. There was a moment in this where I got scared by the Fibonacci Sequence.

"Scream for your friend!"

The words were as stale as the crust on the back tag of his underwear. He was about 41 at the time. Limber, but aged like the old oak that his dad built a treehouse in back when Paul was 13. Oh, Paul. Whatever happened to Paul????

Omfg!!!! I got Liz Phair to do the pod!!!!

If cows could milk themselves... man, we'd probably never see them again.

Yeah man, this shit. This shit right here is the bees’ mothetfucking knees. I don’t think bees actually have knees. Makes you wonder.