does not having to mess with your motorbike every few hundred miles mean it’s soulless if it can go thousands? i don’t want a machine i have to screw with. i want one that does what i say every time i tell it to. do you guys think it’s poetic to be a mechanic? maybe it is. you and your busted bike with a kickass gas tank. i don’t want to be broken down somewhere ’cause i can fix it as my kickass gas tank glistens in the blazing sun. i’d rather be riding by that forgotten spot in a parallel universe at 80 thinking about cold beers and prostitutes who expect me soon. spoiled american.
road haiku:
she moves the streets out
parted by her new named twins
the jesus of ****
take that, famous japanese poet. humor given for a smile received.
angry at eighteen-hundred bucks at no charge to fix the f***ed up ForD. four hundred and twenty at half price to clean my carbs and the remaining f***ed up sh*t. brakes, horns, wiring…
thank *** for frankenstein science or i’d have the pubes of a drowned hatian on my head. katrina did that for me. yay for drowning curses.
marijuana is a gay hate drug
i heard that on the news today
things you shouldn’t believe
like fox news and msnbc and corporate ownership of the free man’s press
like you haven’t been enslaved already
them’s differentiated fantastifactifacations i’ve never believed to understand
like a hot dog and a bun
differentiated….er….bated…er…
them gum’s got chewin’ power!
brought to you by double bubble.
this concludes my application to write for [adult swim]
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