I remember once I found God. He was so happy. I found him in
the card catalog at the public library. Nobody looks there
anymore. Thanks to duey decimal I found him. Feasting on his
manhood just to stay alive. He could have feasted off that
monster for centuries. Serious, he was hung like this. You
figure finding god might win you automatic entry into
Hellven but no. I have to fool myself there, just like
everybody else. Then I said, "AH, CAN I GET THREE WISHES?!"
"I'm not that kind of god", he said. He did teach me sign
language so I wouldn't have to fog up my mirror with these
long winded self-evaluations every morning. "Look at you,
concave man." You know what concave means? We have a young
crowd. It means I have an innie instead of an outie. The
best thing about being concave, besides having your b****
look so huge and out of place, it's the midgets. They crawl
inside and paint pictures on the wall. A little person died
there once. That's what I mean when I mention the ghosts.
I'm haunted, down there. Welcome to my world. It's a world
where all the well endowed animals of this planet
simultaneously die from a horrible case of womb envy. It's a
world where Natalie Portman stalks me, and she's still 14,
and it's ok, 'cause it's my world baby. It's a world where
when you multiply a negative number by a negative number,
you don't get a positive number, YOU GET A BIGGER NEGATIVE
NUMBER! And I don't have to *beatboxes* to keep you
interested. Mommies don't die, she never left me, and
there's not dark sweat marks where my f****** heart should
be. When I fly, it's first class b****. All they serve is
vegetarian meals on my flight. The guy on the side of me's
p*****. "Excuse me. Please check the back, see if you got
one with chicken in it maybe? Maybe someone could get me
chicken." "I'm sorry sir, you gotta call forty-eight hours
ahead of time to get your meat meal." He's none too pleased,
so he calls me on his cellphone, to tell me about his,
superbowl show! I DON'T KNOW! Wanna flow? Go to go. Toe to
toe. I don't rock polo. He gets bombarded by all these
public service announcments that let him know, "YOU
SUPPORTED TERRORISM BY PAYING TAXES and driving all over the
place, you could have just f****** walked down the street."
FACT! And I laughed, all the way to the s**** banks, soccer
mom. Haha, it's not my world, it's his. The big white guy in
the sky. I'm stuck down here, lookin' into my foggy mirror,
peering into my concave, practicing my math on all you poor
aborted fetus's. Reminding myself how far away I am from
God. I chopped off my d***, shoved it into my a******, and
smuggled it out of the country, FOR YOU!!!
the card catalog at the public library. Nobody looks there
anymore. Thanks to duey decimal I found him. Feasting on his
manhood just to stay alive. He could have feasted off that
monster for centuries. Serious, he was hung like this. You
figure finding god might win you automatic entry into
Hellven but no. I have to fool myself there, just like
everybody else. Then I said, "AH, CAN I GET THREE WISHES?!"
"I'm not that kind of god", he said. He did teach me sign
language so I wouldn't have to fog up my mirror with these
long winded self-evaluations every morning. "Look at you,
concave man." You know what concave means? We have a young
crowd. It means I have an innie instead of an outie. The
best thing about being concave, besides having your b****
look so huge and out of place, it's the midgets. They crawl
inside and paint pictures on the wall. A little person died
there once. That's what I mean when I mention the ghosts.
I'm haunted, down there. Welcome to my world. It's a world
where all the well endowed animals of this planet
simultaneously die from a horrible case of womb envy. It's a
world where Natalie Portman stalks me, and she's still 14,
and it's ok, 'cause it's my world baby. It's a world where
when you multiply a negative number by a negative number,
you don't get a positive number, YOU GET A BIGGER NEGATIVE
NUMBER! And I don't have to *beatboxes* to keep you
interested. Mommies don't die, she never left me, and
there's not dark sweat marks where my f****** heart should
be. When I fly, it's first class b****. All they serve is
vegetarian meals on my flight. The guy on the side of me's
p*****. "Excuse me. Please check the back, see if you got
one with chicken in it maybe? Maybe someone could get me
chicken." "I'm sorry sir, you gotta call forty-eight hours
ahead of time to get your meat meal." He's none too pleased,
so he calls me on his cellphone, to tell me about his,
superbowl show! I DON'T KNOW! Wanna flow? Go to go. Toe to
toe. I don't rock polo. He gets bombarded by all these
public service announcments that let him know, "YOU
SUPPORTED TERRORISM BY PAYING TAXES and driving all over the
place, you could have just f****** walked down the street."
FACT! And I laughed, all the way to the s**** banks, soccer
mom. Haha, it's not my world, it's his. The big white guy in
the sky. I'm stuck down here, lookin' into my foggy mirror,
peering into my concave, practicing my math on all you poor
aborted fetus's. Reminding myself how far away I am from
God. I chopped off my d***, shoved it into my a******, and
smuggled it out of the country, FOR YOU!!!