Category Archives: Humour

Smokin’ Cigs & Talkin’ Shit

 

Mark Louie & Stevie on the patio of the Betty Ford Center. 1996

 

MARK: “Across the board, that Debbie is the worst counselor I’ve ever had, in any fucking rehab, that I’ve ever been in. Fucking hands down.”

LOUIE: “What do you want? She’s an ex-table dancer meth addict from Fontana.”

MARK: “Little fucking compassion would be nice, Jesus it’s like scared straight, the lifetime version with that broad.”

STEVIE: “You’re an alky and a crack head; the last thing you need is compassion. What? You want her to french kiss your cock.”

LOUIE: “Nah, Nah, Stevie, she talks to everybody like they’re shit. Fuck her with her cheap red shoes, swap meet Prada handbag. Bitch probably has a seven-year loan on that Lexus.”

STEVIE: “I’m here because my life is an absolute disaster from Oxy and Vodka. You think I give a Desert Hot Springs fuck about Debbie Carlucci and her fake handbag?”

MARK: “Yeah. You got a point; I’m really screwed if this doesn’t pan out. I’m homeless, jobless. Thank God for Motion Picture insurance. I wouldn’t be in this high-end daycare center.”

LOUIE: (ignoring MARK) “Fuck you Stevie, Don’t change the subject. Her husband looks Like a Sinaloa Cartel boss.”

MARK: “Yeah. I saw him the other Day. Looks shady, incidentally, at one point my mother was the head nurse at a rehab. And at the same time she was living with a big time coke dealer.”

STEVIE: “Really? No wonder why you’re so fucked up. Hey Louie, give me a cigarette. Those Export A’s are the fucking real deal!”

LOUIE: “They are also $8.00 a pack, buy your own you cheap fuck, mister garment industry mogul, you been bumming butts from me since the day you got here.”

STEVIE: “Awe. Poor Louie. Write about it in your journal or tell that half a fag of a counselor of yours. Maybe he’ll give you a tissue for your issue.”

LOUIE: (flipping off Stevie) “Yeah he seems a little light in the loafers, huh? All that lovey-dovey recovery shit gets on my nerves. He’s another one whose home life is probably twisted. Probably cruises hustlers on Santa Monica Blvd, after his shift.”

MARK: “Hey both of you listen for a minute. (He motions them both forward and speaks low) Mygirlfriendd stashed an ounce of blow in the care package She dropped off. I want to’ sneak over to the kitchen get some chore boy and baking soda.”

STEVIE & LOUIE: “What the fuck is a Chore Boy.”

MARK: “You know, screen to smoke coke with.”

LOUIE: “You kidding man?”

MARK: “Nope. My roommate paid for it. Said he wanted to try it. I was like, okay. He sent a check to my girlfriend for it. She drove out here and delivered it.”

LOUIE: “Fenix! Jesus! Did the check clear? I wouldn’t trust that guy.Post-traumatic Stress from ’Nam! Fuck man delusions of grandeur. Man, that dude is fucked up.”

MARK: “Yes the check cleared, forget about that. Can you guys cover me while I run over to the dining hall to round up my needs? I got needs.”

LOUIE: “I’m just saying, that guy is not playing with a full deck, as a matter of fact, ha, Jokers only, you know what I’m saying. Says he was in Nam, but he isn’t really even old enough. I did the math; he would have been fourteen years old at the peak of Nam. I gotcha Marky do what you need to do.”

STEVIE: “I ain’t covering for shit. I don’t want to hear about it again. Free basin’ in a rehab? With Fenix? That mental case, your gonna’ introduce him to the pipe! In a rehab! He’ll go batshit homicidal. Come on man! Are you fucking nuts!”

MARK: “Nope. Just an addict…like you.”

LOUIE: “Stevie. Don’t get all high and mighty, watch the attitude. You had your girl stash a quart of vodka in the bushes. You picked it up on the serenity walk and guzzled it down before the morning process group.”

STEVIE: “LOU! Why the fuck you ratting’ me out over here?”

MARK: “Really? And you’re judging me?”

LOUIE: “Now we both got something on you.”

MARK: “Fenix is cool man. He might have work for me if I can’t get my studio gig back. He’s part Cherokee; he raises Tundra Shepard’s for the CIA, guys Loaded! His family owns tons of property in Texas.”

LOUIE: “Bunch of horseshit. Guy was born with a silver spoon up his ass. His family has money; He’s still sucking on his mammy’s tit. What the fuck, he raises Tundra Shepards for the CIA. Man, you buying that bullshit?”

MARK: “I dunno what to believe anymore.”

STEVIE: “What’s that suppose to mean? The last person you trust is some asshole in a rehab, who has all these ideas and promises.”

‘Lude & Lathargic

Loaded, drunk, and talking teenage shit. Every day. That’s what we did. Just a blurry contorted reality. Surrounded by what looked like an E-ticket ride of the lowest uncommon denominator, which is my favorite.

Hollywood High. We sat on the concrete wall, on the corner of Sunset and Orange.

It was the designated smoking area of the high school.

We marveled at the pimp and hooker and activity across the street at the hotel.

Just weeks ago it was illuminated with lights and cameras. They were shooting a movie with George Segal and Denzel Washington. ‘Carbon Copy’ was the film. I walked over to the set and slurred to George Segal how much I loved Omega Man. He thanked me. We stood and looked at each other for a moment, then I turned and stumbled away.

I was ‘luded or on loads and drunk most of the time. I would leave school for lunch and trip around Hollywood Boulevard smoking cigs, eating Two Guys from Italy Pizza or cheap Chinese food, and flirt with the tourist at Graumann’s Chinese theater. Once in a drunken state, I walked onto a big tour bus filled with Asians and screamed, ‘TOURIST GO HOME AND LEAVE YOUR DAUGHTERS!’

They all took pictures of me. I felt like a star until the driver grabbed me and threw me off the bus.

One morning I stole a full bottle of ‘ludes from my mother’s boyfriend. I ate two and I’m really numb. Dave Petrie comes up and asks me if I’m stoned.

Dave is always asking me this question and never has his own drugs. ‘Yeah man, I took two of these.’

I got a pocket full of quaaludes and everything is all right.

‘Shh, Mr. Munhall will hear you.’ He says.

I hand him two Lemmon 714’s. He chews them up, and then he swallows them.

‘These taste nasty.’ Making a lemon face.

‘Wow Dave, Those are going to hit you quickly.’

Ten minutes later we’re watching a film on single cell amoebas and the like.

Dave whispers, ‘Man, I’m coming on like I drank a six-pack.’

‘Yeah. These things are fucking magical. It is like a beer buzz, without the beer belly.’

‘Wow. These things are fuckin’ cool.’

Munhall looks over at us. He’s sitting at his desk with a penlight in his mouth looking over some papers.

‘Shh, be quiet Dave, fuck man. Shut up.’ I say.

‘Mike, I want to walk around on these things. I got to Get UP.’

‘NO, just sit and enjoy Dave.’ I hate this guy right now, he’s classic blow it case type shit.

‘Fuck that.’ Dave is restless.

Munhall is staring at us now. He has the penlight pointed at dave.

I’m really buzzing. My whole body is numb and the narrator of the film isn’t making any sense. The film is scratched and pops occasionally like a cap gun.

Dave stands up and attempts to walk behind the projector. Munhall follows him with the penlight Dave’s face looks curious, tragic and happy all at once.

I try to grab him. Munhall quickly shines the penlight on me, I quickly pull my arm back. He puts the micro spotlight back on Dave. He stumbles, reaches the projector for support.

It tumbles sideways. Dave goes down with it, Munhall follows him with the penlight. I watch the amoeba change shape slightly.

It shoots across the wall – the image is gone with a loud crash.

The lights go on immediately. New environment. Paranoia.

‘Dave? Dave? Are you all right,’ Says Munhall, whom, by the way, also teaches physical education. Now all eyes are on Dave.

Munhall is a heavy set guy who always wears tight white polyester shorts, has tree trunk coach legs and a potbelly.

I imagine he has a La-z-boy chair and a big color console television in his living room and random trophies in a special cabinet. I also Imagine his wife is totally subservient, she serves him fatty meats and Coor’s beer.

Dave gets up and stumbles. He mumbles something incoherently.

He falls on Michelle Tanner’s desk, she is disgusted with everyone and everything, but particularly Dave.

‘Ewwww!’ she cries bluntly while falling back in her chair while simultaneously holding herself.

Dave is on his belly on the desk. He’s swimming in the air trying to gain his footing. His Converse can’t converse. Like a robot that has fallen sideways, or doing space work like a bad vaudeville act. The whole class is quiet and I start laughing uncontrollably like a Tommy gun.

‘Ah ha ha ha ha, ah ah ah ah ah ah!’ My eyes are tearing and I’m ready to piss my pants. Now Munhall is livid and red-faced he screams, ‘SILENCE!’

I can’t stop laughing and crying. My side hurts, even with all the

methaqualone in my 15-year old body.

I feel his beefy hand on my shoulder and he smells like Brylcreem,

and old spice. I hear his angry voice in my ear,

‘Marcus, God damn it. Shut up.’ I was looking out the window

suddenly wishing I were walking on Hollywood Boulevard skateboarding or bogie

boarding at Zuma, anywhere, but here.

I would like another Quaalude. Munhall walks up to Dave.

Dave is now laying face down on top of Michelle’s desk, he’s given up

the swimming routine. He’s splayed over the little desk table, he

looks dead or passed out and she’s leaning back in horror.

Munhall puts the beefy hand on Dave’s shoulder (which I’m sure has

some sort of death grip if provoked).

There is a long pause.

‘Dave. Are you on medication? Hello? Dave?’

It’s church mouse quite and I’m hoping Dave is passed OUT.

It feels like an eternity, and then,

‘No, I just wanted to get up. I wanted to…’ he’s slurring bad.

‘Dave are you are you on drugs? Have you been consuming alcohol?’ He makes his way to his feet,

‘Yes, Marcus gave me some pills.’

‘Is this true, Mr. Marcus?’

‘I don’t know what Dave is talking about,’ slurring a little. I hated maintaining so much when I was loaded. I look over at Michelle for support she looks back at me with her face contorted, as if she literally smells bullshit, she’s sneering. I flip her off.

‘I think you both need to go see Mr. Whitehead.’ Now he’s writing out referral slips.

‘Why?’ I’m sitting at my desk, hands folded back erect.

‘Because I think you’re both on drugs.’ He says staring me dead in the eyes.

‘This is a bullshit!’ I yell, pointing my finger to the heavens.

A few students laugh, with me, or at me, it doesn’t matter at this point. Mr. Munhall hands me the slip. I get up out of my desk. I hold the slip at my side shaking my head back and forth. We exchange looks and I stop at the door and then I address the whole class.

‘This is total bullshit.’

Mr. Munhall starts walking toward me. I’m sure he’ll punch me. ‘Fine, I’ll go.’

‘I’m going home,’ says Dave.

We both walk out.

‘Dude. You fucking snitch. You piece of shit!’

He starts to run. I run after him, Munhall grabs me from behind, and Dave is gone. He escorts me to the Principal.

As we’re walking up the hallway I pass the multi-purpose room. I open the door and look in. Craig McKean is sitting by himself staring at the ceiling.

‘Craig McKean,’ I say in my best Irish brogue trying to imitate his Father.

He slowly looks my way and I know he’s on something because like me, he’s always on something. His lips move but I have no idea what he’s saying. He moves his hand back and forth. He’s staring at his hand. He’s on mushrooms or acid or maybe dust? He keeps moving his lips and nothing is coming out.

‘MARCUS, GODAMMIT,’ I turn and look back Mr. Munhall is standing in the doorway of the admin office with balled fists.

I walk past him and go straight in.

Mrs. Kratzel, the assistant principal looks me up and down with disgust and asks me to take a seat.

She seriously has the yester-year looks of an Aryan schoolmarm and a slight German accent. Sharon accused her of being a dike once. Nervousness set in, I need another ‘lude. I didn’t swallow and with a mouth full of spit I snuck a pill out of my pocket and put it into my mouth.

‘Uh, Michael’ Mr. Whitehead said as he stood in front of me. He seemed to appear out of nowhere. He was wearing tight beige polyester pants and a grey velour sweater vest. This was worn over a puffy sleeved yellow shirt. So I laughed.

‘This isn’t funny, give me the referral slip.’

We walked into his office at the same time and we both get stuck in the doorjamb.

‘Ha, ha, like all in the family.’ I say.

Mr. Whitehead looks really serious and points a finger at the chair in front of his desk.

‘I don’t want to hear about All In The Family. Where is Dave Petrie?’

‘I don’t know, he just walked outta’ class, he left, just like that.’ Now Whitehead is pissed, he has white dry spittle around the corners of his mouth and he is sneering.

I giggle and he shifts in his chair.

‘This isn’t funny Marcus, you could be expelled for dealing drugs.’ Now I’m paranoid and pissed. I didn’t sell that asshole those ludes, but Whitehead doesn’t even know that.

‘I didn’t sell anyone anything.’

We look at each other for what seems like an eternity and he raises he hand in a gesture of dismissal. Marcus, I don’t want to see you again. I breathe a sigh of relief.

That’s right Whitehead, Petrie’s trippin’ around the gym, the track field or somewhere in Hollywood,

but not here to rat on me again.

I walk out of the admin building to my next class. History class. There is a film in progress, something about Columbus. I nod out on my desk and wake up in a puddle of my own spit.

Suicide Pros Inc. 

I’m Steve Marsden. I’m the owner-operator of Suicide Pros™.  (Patent Pending – soon I hope to have hats, shirts, and coffee mugs.)

So a couple of years ago I was wrought with suicidal ideations. Just this insatiable obsession to commit suicide, I tried with the old hose in the exhaust pipe, got to coughing like I had tuberculosis and quickly exited the car. Main reason for this attempt, I was distraught saddened by the death of my cocka-a-poodle “Fleming.” In my grief, I did a horrific amount of drugs, drank copious amounts of alcohol, hell I even went on a sex tour to Thailand. But nothing could fill the empty hole that the passing of Fleming left. I called a couple of different suicide hotlines.

I found them very trite, mundane and just outright insincere. The anger and intolerance I was experiencing while talking to these ‘suicide professionals’ actually saved me from killing myself. I went from suicidal to homicidal in just minutes. Then it came to me. Maybe people need to be angered and pissed off in order to turn their thoughts from suicide? Maybe that whole tender loving care thing was the wrong approach. Maybe people need to be put in check. Especially first world shitters that have everything they want and need, and basically just complain and are sad because their souls are so empty and they have nothing but material belief in their cockamamie little minds.

Let’s face it, the dead western soul is the reason for the dead western mind, which is no doubt the springboard for suicidal ideations. Whoa, how’s that for some shit bird street philosophy. So but anyways I volunteered at a couple different suicide hotline locations, they fired me. Anyway it was voluntary and I needed to get paid, plus they didn’t like my style. Apparently I was to ‘confrontational.’ So I started my own suicide hotline.

So far no one has offed themselves, and I’ve got three and a half stars on Yelp, but even the bad reviews are good because the bottom line is they didn’t kill themselves. My confrontational style and sincere lack of care (based on the fact that you’re somebody I don’t even know) has created a business model that has turned the suicide hotline business upside down! One survivor (who called Suicide Pros™ many times) even gave me a room to live in her house. I’ll call her Margaret for the sake of anonymity. She’s one of these old ‘Sunset Boulevard’ type broads.

Her resentment and anger of not being the young vivacious screen gem of yesteryear brought on suicidal ideations that even a contract from Louis B. Mayer couldn’t lift. I put her in her place, and I told her who she was, where she was, and it was time to give up all that bullshit maybe take an improv class, or do standup comedy, or tell the stories of yesteryear on The Moth or some other bullshit public forum. Live for now and stop all this whiny old starlet horseshit. It worked. She has an improv troupe (The happy old shit heels) that tours the country and they’re all 60 or 70 somethings.

People love them because they’re real and they act their fucking age, they get lots of laughs at all the childish games that they constantly come up with. I get a lot of schmucky little millennials calling me as well. Sad or angered over mommy and daddy’s divorce, being bullied at school, or not even being able to reach the next level in some shitty video game. Hey whatever the case, they need to get put in check as well. Sometimes I threatened to do a three-way call with their parents (like I even have the parent’s number). So for $49.95 (PayPal only 5 day guarantee) Suicide Pros™ is your best bet for value, to save your life, and to start anew, or leave the planet with a clear conscious.
Real enrichment. Check for our (Tell me why I don’t like Mondays) special.

Vinnie The Guinea’s Rant

Fucking Joey exploded man! He flew into a rage after the Jets lost to New England. He fucking backhanded Maria, split her fucking lip! Supposedly Maria told him, ‘get a life, and your fucking emotional state of being when your teams lose is like a twelve-year-old girl.’

That was it, “BLAM!” Maria’s dad Sal, You know Sal, built like a brick shithouse, he was a wheelman for Fat Tommy, Sal Man! Ex-Marine fought in ‘Nam – killin’ zips in the wire. Had like a necklace of gook ears! Fucking Sal beat up 14 Puerto Ricans in the parking lot of Fucking Yankee stadium they tried to rob him. He found out about the back-hand Joey served up to Maria and like went over there after the game while Joey was watching 60 minutes, like some segment about that asshole who started Facebook that Zuckerjew fuck.

Anyway I mean he fucking rolled Joey out like cheap carpet! Maria had to beg, “Daddy Daddy, please!” He says, “Shut the fuck up, Maria! I’ll beat this Mother-less fuck within an inch of his shitty fucking life!” He laid into him, screaming things at him like at the same time “you wanna hit my baby you fucking bag of shit, HUH?! HIT ME, C’MON! You sorry fuck I’ll make you wish you was never fuckin’ borned!” Then threw him against a wall and fucked up all the wedding pics and family photos, and, to like make it even more fucked up and worser Joey went face first into Angela’s picture (you know Sal’s dead wife and Maria’s saint of a fucking mother, helped retarded kids and disabled old fuckers, you know dead by cancer.

But hey not for nuthin’ years ago they lived by the Fresh Kills Landfill dump on Staten Island, so…. But then like Sal was really like super pissed! “MY ANGELA!” He was like crying and screaming, “YOU FUCKING COCK SUCKER! LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY ANGELA!” He picked up that heavy leather footrest thing, ottomans, whatever the fuck, you know the one they bought from Roma D’Italia in Brooklyn and started like BLAM BLAM like beating him wit it! Like the bottom part of it, it has like these black marble legs, and those lil’ legs were kicking the shit outta Joey with every fucking hit.

The neighbors called the cops but they never come there on account of Joey’s dad was the like the desk commander of the 69th precinct and they know Joey’s a loser or some shit and why trouble Joey Sr. with Joey Jr’s. fucking bullshit he’s got hypertension and gout and had to pay off loan sharks and junk dealers on account of Joey Jr.’s degenerate gambling or his dope habit and not for nuthin’ but Joe sr was probably at one time or anotha’ taking payoffs and gifts from Sal as well as Fat Tommy at the Tommy T’s social club where Joey sr. had a espresso and a t-bone steak like clockwork every fuckin Tuesday at like noon.

I can tell you this it looked like The Shining in there, like blood all over the walls, shit all tore up, broken glass and frameless black n’ white photos on the floor and what not, I saw and heard the whole thing from my place next door and like they got like no fucking shame they got the drapes and windows wide open on a Sunday night and screaming and yelling like Sicilian banshees like it sounds like fucking Raging Bull in there with these motherfuckers.

I ain’t gonna say shit cause these scum bags like either one of ‘em will beat me senseless, plus when Joey was in AC Gambling me and Maria fooled around like, let’s just say my sausage fell between her buns and we fucked til the cows came home and she called it a mercy fuck on account of I got like one leg smaller then the other and I gotta wear these orthopedic shoes but I told her not for nuthin’ I don’t need no charity, fuck you Maria I can get laid, just last week Josephine who’s temping in the office of 18th avenue plumbing supply gave me a hand job behind a dumpster and plus I got other prospects, and she said “yeah but a handjob and getting laid are in like in to different galaxies so what the fuck Vinnie?”

She was right and it was amazing to having had fucked her and I’m thinking about her a lot and plus I called her dad about the back-hand thing because fuck Joey Jr anyway! He called me a “lame” and “wobble walk” and “Vinnie Stutter step” in school so fucking his wife was like revenge you only read about in books, or see on television. And plus even my Father who is kind of soft, and quiet compared to other tuff motherfuckers in the neighborhood was like “Jesus Stevie, you gotta get laid, I mean Christ you must be walking around sexually frustrated with a heavy sack or like you must beat off like your going to the electric chair.”

Which both things are true but like I don’t want my father saying that to me I’m thirty-seven and plus I still live at home, but a lot a guys live at home, even into there like 50’s and fuck it’s expensive to move and not for nothing I chip in for food and clean up but my mother insists on doing my underwears and shit ‘cuz I bleached out the a bunch of colors and turned the whites blue cuz I don’t pay attention to what colors go with what cleaning chemicals so anyway, I was having this idea that maybe Sal will beat Little Joey like into a comatose type deal, so like I can be with Maria or console her through her trials and tribulations and however you say that.

Like I think about how much I enjoyed bangin’ her out I actually can’t stop thinking about her and sometimes I mean like once in a while I peak in on her through da window when she’s taking a dump or showering or pissing. Like a coma type deal or even like I mean if he died to, that wouldn’t be the worse thing that ever happened on this block either, like not for nothing you know father Mc Murphy diddled little cocks and fiddled with boys and girlses assholes and he like got off free as a fucking bird and moved out west, the church is like the mafia they take care of there own, but one of those kids was Fat Tommy’s godson and he was fucking like super pissed and word has it he put 25k on the street to have Mc Murphys cook and balls put in a mason jar, and I guess he put a couple of his soldiers on the street and even one went out west supposedly allegedly.

“Fuck You Huero!” A rant from Marisella Morales (aKa) sHyGrRl

*Excuse the vernacular, spelling errors and outright butchering of the English language. Trying to keep it hood.

Thass right you pinche fuck head. It’s Friday nite aye and we jus burly started to party cuz liL SpOoKy brought over a kegger and mi abolita made menudo and carne asada and my cousin RaScAl jus burly got out of Wayside cuz he was in there for some bullshit violations of probation like he was hangin’ out with another homeboy and some bullshit about not supposed to disasscociate with known gang members so like anyways we were getting’ down listening to narcos corridos music and like Sylvia (aKa LoNeLy) my homegirl from v13 came over and like she’s cool but that chica’s always judges me like how I’m a mother, how I keep house and there’s roaches and everything is greasy and filthy and especially when she says like, ‘don’t give meha flaming hot cheetos and diet coke, cuz meha looks like she’s sweating and red and her belly looks all distended out and shit and every time she sips at that cola she like makes a face like it’s fukin lickwid plummer aye least just give her regular like seven up or mounten dew’s and I’m like ‘LoNeLy mind your own bizzness bich’ and sometimes we argue and that’s when fukin pinche huero was all ‘um hello uh can you keep it down pleas?’ like all smart assy And I was like ‘mind your own bizness, this got nothing to do with your huero ass’ and then he’s like ‘it’s 12:30 and it’s got everything to do with me because your outside my window, I’ll call the cops’ and this huero had balls aye, cuz like we got homies all over the block, I was like ‘shit whatever, call the huda then liL SpOoKy was all ‘I’ll blast that foo aye fuck that lil’ blanco bitch’ and I was like ‘you ain’t blasting no one’ and my abolita came in from the back room and was like what are you locas doing? why is the huero yelling? what is happening? And I’m like ‘gramma go back to your little room, we got this go watch your programs’ we converted a walk in closet to a bedroom for her she has a little tv and we cut into the cable cuz my homeboy 5nIpEr works for Time Werner but gramma pitches in for rent with her social security and also I get WIC and that’s my monthly card for womans infants an childrens like milk and cheese and diapers and eggs and shit so like my tio biG pAnThEr lives here occasionally but he gets all perverted when he drinks and does speed and so my tia LiL’ dReAmEr who used to be with him but she went all machona tortillera when she went to the pen in chowchilla she loves to eat pussy she came at me and was like ‘sHyGiRl lemme taste that sweet lil pinoche’ like at her own daughter’s quincinera and I was drunk and horny and tempted but the bible says that shit is wrong so… then like last week she warned me and said that pAnThEr weird sexual extendencies but only just when he drinks and does tweak – but then I decided I still I don’t want him around my dotter… because another tio of mine bIg JoKeR is a sick fucker who touch my lil cussin Carla and she said he showed her his serpiente and she should touch it til it recoils back to its cave and shit and then he said she made it bled white on her hand, so she should pt it in her mouth to get the rest of the blood out of it and make it better, so he had to fkn go so but that sick motherfucker disappeared after I toll liL SpOoKy, I think liL SpOoKy he put his ass somewheres – but bIg JoKeR was abuse by has papi mR. sMiLeY like bIg JoKeR had to suck his papi mR. sMiLeY dick and got buttfucked by sMiLeY so, like they said shit rolls down hill so we nips that shit in the butt like quik fast I think he brought jOkErZ ass to TJ and blasted that sick ninos toucher and put his ass somewhere anyhwowz so then we jus kep partying and listnin to my favrit narco corridore jamz (rip Ariel Comacho mi corazon) Then like huero was slamming windows and shit like a lil’ bitch and then at like two in the morning pUpPeT and 5iLeNt show up they just came from the clubz and pUpPeT has blood all over his boots and jeans and he’s like ‘I just kikd this mother fuckerz head in like bad, he tried to talk shit when we were leving’ and there like gacked out smoking speed and I was like ‘you fuckerz cant do that here because last time the speed was all hot an likwid and spilled out the pipe onto meja’s feet an burnt it and I don’t want that shit and I was by the stove cooking and then 5iLeNt was like, ‘Shud up sHyGiRl bitch you still got that infection cuz my verga burns like fuck after putting it in your culo’ and I was fkn mad so I grabbed a hot pot of menudo and threw it on his back and he let out a bitch scream like you here in the movies and shit and I was like don’t ever put my shit on the streets pinche motherfucker lil’ dick bitch! Jus then the door knocked and was like police and these fools all bugged the fuck out and pUpPet 5iLeNt an rascal are all on probation so it was fkd up cuz it was like three am and the cops saw the kids awake and on the floor craw ling round the kegger and the ese’s are all bug eyed and jacked up and I toll them kick back aye and they started all this shit and the funny part too was that they tased 5iLeNt because he was like trying to fan his back with a dish rag and huda thought he was coming at them so like they zap that foo! And my abulita like ducked her head out and waved it all off and went back to her program. And those fools all got taken in and sent up for violations and now I gotta find more people to move in and pay the rent or something.