Plus, No Lie, I Woke Up to a Bowl Full of Pickle Juice on The Kitchen Floor, Maybe For The Dogs?

Elizabeth - Flipping The Bird While Gripping a Red Plunger Over a Pancake Stuffed Toilet With Corn on The Cob, Sour Cream, Mustard, a Batter Blaster and Other Miscellaneous Toiletries

Sometimes when I am out drinking at crappy bars and dudes are asking me how long it took me to grow my beard and how many of the chicks I photograph I "bang", I text ideas to myself to remember them later. The drunker and more awesome I become, the worse the ideas get. When I get really drunk I write beautiful melancholic poetry such as the following gem from last night (spelling errors included):

"for thesse are the pickles with the false vinegar taste, floating arund the room when the truth lllies in the lonely oraface called the braain."

That's all for now.
Don't get caught talking like a black person.
Your Favorite Pizza,
Pepperoni Smith