Sunday, September 26, 2010

Sometimes you just can't stay silent forever

Little known fact: If the ‘day’ was a flavor it would be a raspberry sorbet with a vanilla custard topping, although it would be utterly unpalatable due to ‘raspberry’s’ cruel, unreasonable and utterly arrogant use of the silent ‘p’, and frankly it just makes me mad.

Sometimes there is nothing I can do but sit around and think ‘this day would be delicious, if it wasn’t for that bloody p’, and other days I am having an awesome day not even thinking about raspberry and their lies when I will horribly come into contact with someone with a stutter trying to ask me something while being perfectly polite about it but end up saying ‘p-p-p-p-p please….’ And I’ll be like ‘great give the perfectly polite people afflictions like stutters while greedy con-artists get to walk around with the gift of the gab’ and then I’ll be all like ‘gift of the gab, what an ironically poorly crafted use of language we choose to use to suggest someone has been blessed in the ability to use their talking en like with voice en that’ and I’ll be so mad that a few weeks later while I am ranting on and on about the unfairness of it all and find myself repeating the ‘p-p-p-p-p please’ bit I’ll suddenly be like ‘raspberrys you scum, do you know where you’re silent ‘ps’ end up? I hope you die!’

Fear not though. For your days do not have to be affected as mine once were. Hell Yeah I did, I came up with a solution to the tragic situation of having your day ruined.

It’s quite simple really.

Anytime you feel like you are having a day that is being damaged in someway, raspberry related or not, merely abolish one awesome thing from your life and replace it with something even more awesome.

For example – last Thursday I was really pissed off because it turned out that I have to call a coffee table a ‘coffee’ table even if I never use it for resting mugs of coffee on them FORCING me to be prejudice against magazines, beer caps and for some reason as I speak a golf tee. That’s not nice at all. Frankly I could complain a lot about this but lets just say this – if we refuse to say ‘beer cap table’ for fear of insulting coffee what happens when the coffee gets all big-headed and haughty and we need to pull it down a notch and ask for beer caps help. I’ll tell you what happens – they WON’T help. That’s not the kind of world I want to live in.

So I am all pissed off and I remember my own remedy – abolish one awesome thing from my life and replace it with something even more awesome. So I did it.

That’s right, I abolished something awesome from my life – my regular trips to train stations to complain that their roof height policies are viciously prejudice against giants and that perhaps the fact we hardly ever see giants walking down city streets is due to their inability to fit onto the trains robbing us mere ‘normal’ sized humans of wonderful ‘I saw a giant the other day’ anecdotes.

And I replaced this with something even more awesome – re-enacting the nightly news from seventeen days ago for sick kids using only stick figure cartoons and the use of make up free mime, just to let the kids know how much better things have gotten since seventeen days ago. You know, still wars and stuff, but way more stick figure cartoons and make up free mime now. And the kids fucking love it – there all like ‘oh, gee, here comes that stick figure cartoon and mime with no use of make up guy’.

And you better believe it fixed my day right on up. Take that coffee!!!!!

By the way, speaking of prejudice I don’t think we will ever, ever abolish prejudice until we abolish the word ‘abolish’. It just sounds so damn delicious.

‘This chocolate vanilla cream cake comes abolished with a rich creamy caramel sauce’

Mmmm, abolish.

Also speaking of abolishment, you know that A-bomb? That’s the first ever bomb given a grade of ‘A’ before it had ever even been used. And then we wonder why it was such an arrogant asshole (both A words – coincidence yes, which is like an aberration, and the fact ‘aberration’ is an A word is one of the main signs that the dictionary is full of secret information – like ‘paidle’ – what the hell does that mean? Ohhhh conspiracy).

Do you know that before the A-bomb exploded it made Japanese kids give it their lunch money? Arrogant asshole!!!

Still we should have known. We should have predicted. We should have sensed. We should have seen. We should not have made the mistakes we made. We should have guessed from the beginning that bombs would turn out to be bad.

Sure it would have been easy to think that all those explosives, and the huge phallic form that they were built in the image of clearly stated they would only be used for charitable candy like goodness, but the clue that they held a secret was right there wasn’t it?

Bomb – SILENT B.


Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Notes from a guy with sex goals

Hi I'm Warren,

I was twenty-nine when I lost my virginity, which for a bachelor in the 1930s was quite young. The young lady’s name was Angela, and rumour had it she’d already slept with three people, and she was only forty-two! It sure was neat to get the chance to meet such a slut to help me become a man.

Barbra came into my life three years later and we made love after only dating for seven months. I was starting to think I was quite the stud (which back then was a term reserved for horses but I was very large in the nose so I certainly felt I had satisfactorily complimented myself).

After Barbra dumped me for being ‘shit in bed’ (how can one be excrement in bed? that never made sense to me) I found comfort in the arms of Cindy, all 400lbs of them (I only weighed the arms, I couldn’t get the whole body on the scales, and besides I didn’t want to do anything to make her feel uncomfortable about her weight). Keep in mind in those days men seeked curvier women, and when they turned us down the morbidly obese were the 116th next best thing, right between rabbits (hard to catch) and trees (splinters, ouch).

Sadly Cindy died during the act (sadly for her private cheese dealer). And I found myself at the ripe old age of thirty seven (life expectancy was fifty two then, and I never was an optimist) and I was in a speakeasy one night when I optimistically started chatting to a fine beauty named Diedra. She of course laughed in my face then instructed a random man in the vicinity to beat me to near death, which he did with the glee of a school girl, and as I lay in hospital for the next two years (there was not yet a cure for fifty broken bones) I had plenty of time to think and it occurred to me that had sweet Diedra responded positively to my attempts to woo her, my first four ladies I had made love to would have had first names beginning with A, then B, C & D!

It was a mighty fine thought, as I am sure you can imagine (Apologies if you cannot, I understand that not every man has had such success with the ladies as me).

It was such a nice thought in fact that it inspired a pact (Little known fact: all pacts a factual). I pacted that I would sleep with exactly twenty six ladies in my life, I know, a scandalous sum that I am sure no other man would dare dream of, but it seemed fated (pacts are also fated, unless you make a pact to do something like start the day with sit-ups that’s not fated its stupid) and these twenty six women would have names starting with the letters A through Z. It would be my greatest triumph (and only triumph, triumphs were difficult in those days).

That’s how I found myself making love to the beautiful Diana, the one armed quadriplegic nurse who had recently had a bomb land on her in World War II (Although we called it ‘that shooty thing’ at the time) (Oh and for your information the burns only made her more beautiful so shame on you).

We met in the rehabilitation ward of the hospital and when I asked if she would like to make love she replied “I guess, I mean its not like I have any feeling in my body, so I wont feel it” she sure did have a great sense of humour for a war victim.

Ethel came a few months latter when by chance I was visiting my grandmother in the old folks home and Ethel was in there visiting her daughter. After that things got lean for a while, I mean ‘F’ names were hard to come by in those days. Not like today with your fancy Felicitys and the like, in those days people respected their children enough not to give them crazy crap names! (Sorry for my language, but it makes me mad).

But things turned around thirty odd years later. I was drafted into Vietnam and the army refused to believe that I was seventy four and that there had been a clerical error and sent me over where I had the pleasure of fornicating with a prostitute named Fung.

Now you would think making love for the first time in thirty years would make me happy, but it turned out that these ‘prostitutes’ didn’t only exist in Vietnam and were in fact back in America also and I could have worked my way through the remaining letters with a crazy week in Vegas and spent my life seeking normal relationships or even a wife. But you know what? In old age you realize there is no point holding on to regrets, you have bigger things to worry about, such as your impending death.

Sex goals sure are great.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

An easy way to a super fun evening

I walked out into the street and looked up at the sky. It was not quite a full moon, but it would be within the next couple of nights, and I couldn’t wait. I mean waiting would be pretty stupid; it was going happen whether I stood and waited regardless, so what kind of moron would wait. I honestly think if you COULD wait I’d question your sanity. That should be like the first test they ask someone in therapy:

‘Looking forward to anything?’

‘Yes my nana is getting out of the hospital soon’

‘Can you wait?’

Answer one

‘No I can’t wait’


‘That is perfectly normal

Answer two

‘Yes, I plan on waiting right outside her door’


‘It’s your nana, not your wife, you’re really creeping me out man’

The moon was big that day. I have never quite figured out why the moon is different sizes, are we closer to it at some times? And if so why doesn’t the gravitational pull make it so we start floating around, cause that would be cool. We’d be all like floaty and that, and people would be like, whatcha up to, and you’d be all like floating man, and they’d be like me too, it’s really creeping me out man’.

‘Dave?’ I said to myself, to distract myself so I wouldn’t burst into tears from the knowledge that I would never get to float.

‘Yes David’ I replied

‘When you pull your pants down and show your bum to other people, why do they call that mooning them? It doesn’t looking anything fucking like the moon, the moon doesn’t have a big line down the middle for one thing, and if it does have cheeks they aren’t soft, yet firm and remarkably fondleable!’

‘I don’t think fondleable is real word David’

‘Of course it is, anything you can do you are able to able, readable, likeable, murderable, unconstitutionable’

‘Now your clearly just making words up, ‘likeable’, yeah right’

‘You are so unlikeable when you nitpick like this’

‘That’s another thing, what the hell is a nit, and how do you pick it?’

‘A nit is like a useless or minor thought and you pick it when you won’t let it drop you nitwit’

‘Ok, but wit is having a speedy ability to find the humor in something, but to pick is bad, like pick your nose or pick a scab, how can nitwit and nitpicker both be insults!!’

‘Picking isn’t always bad, what about picking up a copy of that new book you wanted, or picking up your friend at the airport, those are perfectly positive examples of positive picking!’

‘So you want me to pick you up at the airport, is that what you are getting at, trying to pick at my soft spot so I end up the bad guy if I don’t’

‘I am ‘you’, you nitwit, how the hell can I pick myself up at the airport’

‘Shut up Dave’

‘No you shut up David’

‘Wait, am I Dave or David, I haven’t been paying close enough attention to the order of our conversation’

‘Actually I don’t know, I haven’t been paying attention either’

‘That’s so typical of you’


‘Not paying attention!’

‘Fuck you, you didn’t pay attention either, you always do that, shit on me for doing something you do too’

‘Why are you always so bloody defensive’

‘Screw you Davey, yeah I said it, Daaaavvveeey’

‘You’re so immature’

‘Oh I’m immature, I’m immature, maybe I’ll pull your pants down and show everyone your penis, how immature would that be’

‘That’s your penis too you know’

‘I know that, actually part of me kind of wants to show everyone my penis, you know, just so people know, remove the mystery and things suddenly become more accessible’

‘You and your weird theories’

‘That’s not a theory. A theory is an untested idea in which the outcome could go in different directions, mine is a minority desire which I may or may not act upon one day’

‘Fuck, fucking off’

Just then a man walked past

‘Are you ok sir’? He asked

‘We’re trying to look at the moon here, you nitwit, go bother someone else’

He walked away looking confused and for some reason said 'you're really creeping me out man', and Davey and I talked on into the night.

It was the best nearly full moon ever.

Dave's Dam Days - this milk kicks ass

Dave has interesting days, this is part of one of them

So check this video out, it has milk AND addiction cure!!!!

Monday, September 13, 2010

Please don't do this to our kids

I was playing a game of pool last night when something amazing happened. I hit the white ball with the end of my beautifully bronze chalk decorated pool cue and it rolled up the table hitting into the red number eleven ball which then started moving, without me touching it directly at all, in a whole different direction from the one the white ball had been moving in, and then this red number eleven ball rolled into the hole in the corner of the table where it fell into a small net! Wow.

I felt the joy John Mainard Billiard, who was the pool boy sleeping with the wife of the guy who invented Snooker, must have felt when he first learned to drive ‘I am no longer stuck only visiting friends within cycling distance, hoorah’ he was heard to gasp at the time.

I was so overwhelmed I felt I needed to pray:

Dear Lord Jesus Christ Son of God and also God, meaning you’re, your own father, that’s weird, kind of like in Terminator when John Conner sent his own father back in time to save his life before he was born.

I feel I need to pray to you today and thank you for your invention of geometry. If not for this wonderful, and yet cruelly un-respected language of mathematics, we would not now be able to enjoy such amazing things as shapes, angles and sinking the red number eleven ball by hitting the white ball into it, but mostly shapes, how awesome are shapes?

Sure in the end, ironically, it was a shape – the cross, that you were nailed too and died bleeding on, and also the source of one of your most mistranslated quotes, I hate to tell you Jesus but

‘Forgive them father, for they know not what they have done’

Has been mistranslated to mean ‘don’t blame my killers, they’re just kind of naive’ when in reality surely you meant ‘don’t blame them for using a cross, it will be centuries before geometrists discover than the triangle is actually a far stronger shape than a cross, and when they do people will all laugh, and be like “ha ha, remember before we nailed people to triangles when we instead nailed people to crosses, man we were dumb back then’”

Also some people believe in you, hear this quote, and still think god might be a woman! Isn’t that weird? That means they think that you may have called your mother ‘father’ and that your ‘mother’ impregnated your other ‘mother’ and that no men were involved at all. Ha ha, like that will ever happen, a child growing up fatherless, next people will be saying it’s possible for a woman to have an orgasm without a skilled male lover on hand, it’s become a strange world since you left Lord Jesus!

Plus, if the triangle is the strongest shape, why do so many women still object to suggestions by their boyfriends and husbands that another woman be brought into bed for a threesome, or ‘triangle-loving’, surely this is merely an attempt to create a strong stable relationship, you should get geomestrists onto that immediately. Also how did you let the Terminator series get so awful, and simultaneously make James Cameron an idea stealing jackass, seems like the inventor of geometry would know better than this.

Oh by the way Jesus, I secretly I call the white ball in pool ‘the white number 49 ball’ I think its cruel all the balls get numbers other than the white one, and it is the ball that is used the most, its just not fair, and I refuse to let unfairness be part of my table based sport experiences. I give Ping-pong balls their numbers based on their individual personalities, not the orange ones though, they are trying to steel the thunder from baby mangos and that’s not nice. I hope you, our unseen master, reward my generosity when I see you up in that heaven dealy we hope you weren’t lying about.

Note: If you were lying about that heaven dealy, shame on you, some people are relying on that!

Note 2: Some people get geometrists and geologists mixed up, that’s funny, one studies awesome shapes, the other looks at dirt and stuff, maybe you should make sure this discrepancy is fixed in that heaven dealy, we’d hate to be confused when we get there.


I was feeling good. Geometry once again had enriched my life, and I had taken time to thank its inventor, I needed one more thing to make this experience perfect, by creating a triangle of awesomeness, so I went to fix myself a drink.

This is when it happened.

Yes, ‘it’!

The ‘thing’ that may be the ‘thing’ which fucks up this whole ‘thing’.

I was putting ice into a glass when for the first time I realized just what was going on in this world. Perhaps the source of all bad stuff, or maybe just some bad stuff, but bad stuff is bad stuff and this was clearly the source of some bad stuff.

Turns out – ice ‘cubes’ are no longer always ‘cubes’.

That’s right, in an attempt to make them easier to extract from the tray, some ice cube trays are now round on the bottom, and seriously a shape which is square on five sides yet round on one side is NOT a fucking cube!

Do you people realize what this means?

Ok, so say you’re a parent right, and it’s a hot summers day, you are now faced with a vicious conundrum.

Give your child a refreshing beverage and risk ruining his chances of making a career in geometry or move to Finland and keep the geometry dream alive? What a heartbreaking choice to have to make for a parent. I mean, my god, how hard is that to decide (sorry Lord Jesus, ‘your name in vain’ rhymes, and you know how us humans are suckers for rhymes!)(Also - Conundrums, con-mans, condominiums, condiments, condoms, all things which can make your life a misery, and all ‘con’ words, coincidence I think not, or else why isn’t coincidence spelled conincidence?’)

Sure some parents will be able to administer the following test:

‘Hey Bobby, what do a call a triangle when one of the corners is at a ninety degree angle?’

‘I don’t know mom’

‘Ok Bobby, your geometry career is already fucked, here have a coke’

But that’s rare, because most kids know that a triangle with a right angle is called an isosceles. Still how much longer will this be true if we keep pretending ice-roundtopsquareishbottoms are still ice-cubes!

Note: I have been a fan of beverages for a long time, so even though clearly my personal geomometrical knowledge remains flawless I can’t guarantee it stay this way forever!

It may be easy to make fun of at this time, but what happens fifty years from now when you find yourself driving on a road when a corner seems slightly too sharp for your nuclear-powered-energy-efficient-hover-cycle and you’ll be all like ‘where was a geometrist to prevent this disaster’ and then you’ll remember the headline from the paper:

Geometrists officially ‘refreshed’ into extinction – awesome hover-bike inventing now the world’s most popular branch of the sciences

But by then it will be too late!!!

Well I say ‘no’! Let’s prevent this while we can. Let’s call so called ‘ice-cubes’ what they really are ice-roundtop um, um, circle bottom, no um triangle? Oh fuck, it’s begun, I can’t remember what the name of that round bottomed cube like shape is called. Hang on one second, I need to make a phone call.

‘Excuse me operator, can you please connect me to a geometrist immediately, it’s an emergency…. What do you mean that there aren’t any geometrists available to talk right now and that also there is no longer such a thing as calling an operator and having them connect you to a call, has the world gone made? Jesus, Jesus, please help us!!!!!’

Ok I am back, and I hate to tell you but my phone call did not go well. I could not get a geometrist on the phone to tell me what that shape actually is called.

Plus I was informed that even though some people with the natural skill set for a lucrative career in the geometrical sciences who get jaded out of the entire field will turn to awesome hover bike inventing, others, sadly, will go in different directions and in fact may instead turn to, gulp, taxman taxidermy. Yes its true, you may one day go to bring a gift to your beloved tax man, a gift to thank him for all his love and generosity, and, gulp, find that he has been stuffed!

It’s a scary thought, but unfortunately it is now inevitable, and all we can do is try and delay this horror for as long as we can.

So I say this to you right now – are you drinking a beverage right this moment? If so what shape is your ice? If it’s a lying ‘cube’ then shame on you. If it’s like a whiskey on the rocks, then god-bless you, rock shaped ice is cool, because those geologists need a break from their dirt filled shitty lives.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Don’t dump your trash here

To be honest I’m jealous of trash.

I know some people are like ‘don’t make me jealous of the trash’, there are signs up around town like ‘don’t feed the trash’ and current affair shows do exposes on how some trash is actually undercover fabric salesmen doing their ‘research’ as they call it – call it what it is fabric salesmen, you lying trash, it’s being a busy body! And I have had a busy body in my bed once and I was all like ‘stay still’ and she was like ‘I prefer to get busy’ and I was all ‘that isn’t going to contribute to a fully relaxing sleeping environment’ and then she got all mad and left and went home! That’s right, ‘busy bodies’ mean ‘belligerent bodies’!

But I don’t agree with those folk, because trash has the fucking life. Yes it’s true. Its life’s work is complete! It was designed to hold something before a human used it and that has now happened!!!!!

Wow, it’s like history right in front of us. You can walk past and be all like ‘hey Billy, see that candy bar wrapper, that once had candy in it!!!’ And Billy can be like ‘Hey dad, this strange man is offering me candy’!

That’s the genius of trash.

But that’s not why I am jealous of it. No, it’s the fact that with it’s life’s work now complete it has nothing at all left to do but lay out in the sun, day after day, soaking up the rays, watching the world go by, and letting drunk teenagers urinate on it, it’s all the joy of old age without any of the lack of joy of old age! Wow, that’s awesomely paradoxical.

Oh, trash

Oh, trash

That’s the life for me

Living life with glee

That is not yet the theme song of trash, but if they ever develop the ability to sing it damn well should be. You know, assuming it turns out they speak with Shakespearean like eloquence, and become all snotty so they decide to talk about themselves as like a product rather than in the first person. I mean humans don’t sing ‘oh, human, oh, human’ so get off your ‘pretentious dragon’ trash.

Wait, um, I mean I’m jealous of trash. Trash by definition is in retirement, and sometime mere days after it was given birth to, and in sometimes it’s made of substances guaranteeing that it will live for thousands of years! Can you imagine, knowing you’ll live for thousands of years and still getting to retire three days after birth? No you can’t, because you ain’t trash. Jealous? I am! But you shouldn’t be. Why?

I’ll tell you why!

Because there are these sadistic bastards who call themselves things like ‘cleaners’, ‘trash pickeruperers’ and ‘seriously guys, I don’t mean to whine but some people and their trash is so gross, I guess I’ll just pick it up because I am better than themerers’ who go around town, picking up these pieces of trash, while it is innocently chilling out in the sun enjoying its hard earned post career relaxing years, and these people throw the these poor pieces of trash in plastic bags before suffocating them to death!

Wow, can you even contemplate what it must be like to suddenly be chucked in a plastic bag and cut off from air? It would be terrible. But even worse trash has no arms or legs to fight off its attackers, or try to break free of the plastic, it just has to lie there, feel the oxygen disappear, and then wait for the pain to get so overwhelming it passes out right before death (trash also often shit’s its pants as it dies from suffocating, although it prefers that this doesn’t get out to the greater public).

What kind of a world do we live in when this sort of brutal behavior goes not merely unpunished, but sometimes even celebrated? Sometimes people have ‘murder trash parties’ (or as they call them ‘can someone stay after the party and help clean up the trash’) sometimes criminals as part of jail work release programs are forced into trash murdering! I am sorry, but committing a heinous act does not make up for a life of crime, not in my ‘oh, human, oh life, oh existence!’

Sure from time to time some more kind hearted evil trash murderer will at least have the decency to spike the piece of trash to death with a nail on a stick to save it being suffocated, yet still often those nails are rusty, and most people don’t know this, but tetanus is amazingly swift forming in trash, and often as painful as suffocating to death.

And anyway, their bodies are still intrashmanly crushed together in huge compactors often alongside other corpses of trash that are not just not family, but sometimes even whole different species! You crush a human body, a dog body, and an old rug together in a compactor together and there is an outcry (let we not forget the great human/dog/rug tragedy of 1913, or ‘huogug’ as it was called by the tabloids at the time, ha ha, tabloids are so adorable) yet crush a soda can, a shoe box, and a discarded pair of broken leansed sunglasses together and no one even raises an eyebrow (please note: Some people are not capable of raising just one eyebrow, but if they could most would still not raise one about this monstrosity!)

I know; it’s disgusting!

Then to compound the calamity they are then buried, often naked, in mass unmarked graves, which are then turned into parks where children are encouraged to play on their graves!!!!!!

Seriously ‘!!!!!’ I know it’s excessive exclamation pointing, but kids playing on mass unmarked graves, well honestly ‘!!!!!!!’

I know you’ll get some ‘realists’ who claim that retired containers, and even things like receipts from products long since consumed are ‘no longer contributing to society’. Well first off I have to say – maybe YOU’RE not contributing to society! (You probably are, I mean you’re saying stuff out loud that’s contributing something, but I just wanted you to know how it felt to be accused of perhaps not contributing to society – it’s soft isn’t it? Which is surprising at first because most people don’t know that ‘society’ uses softener) but that doesn’t change the UNDENIABLE fact that trash serves a VALUABLE purpose in society!

Don’t believe me? Well cop this truth. Say you’re walking through a neighborhood, rather like the one where I am staying right now, and you see all sorts of discarded condom wrappers and heroin needles, you get to know off the bat that the kids around here are both scared of STDs and equally fearless of STDs, a contrast which screams ‘these kids play by there own rules’. This kind of information is priceless when a street football game breaks out and you’re asked to play because you don’t have to say ‘hey kids, what rules do you play by’ you know, they play by their own rules. That saves you the entire length of time that this exchange would have taken, and time is invaluable, especially if you’re prone to daydreaming about how to ban all electric drills from kindergartens. Yep:

Trash: 1

Realists: 0

Hell yeah.

Oh by the way, if you do get involved in this game of football and one of the kids bleeds, you also know not to taste the blood for signs of a bizarre chocolate flavor, because heroin boys? Really? Heroin boys? Awwww, I hate to feel this way, but I’m disappointed in you. And I am afraid I have to punish you, I know I am sorry, but heroin boys? Really? I am sorry, I can’t give you dessert after dinner tonight, and tonight is chocolate cheesecake night. No, no, no, you MADE me do that, I don’t feel one little tiny bit good about it, but heroin boys? Really? Boo.

Oh, check this out – go to a neighborhood full of fast food wrapper trash and you can reliably conclude that this is a fat neighborhood, which means a slow neighborhood, and therefore a muggers paradise! That’s VALUABLE information for muggers.

Note: Sometimes something valuable to individuals is damaging to society as a whole.

Note 2: Don’t you dare blame trash for that – it doesn’t CHOOSE where it is dumped, it merely offers you the precious ability to read a neighborhood for what it is, so don’t go ‘we don’t want muggers coming here’ instead be all like ‘thanks trash for letting us know the TRUTH about what’s going on in the streets, unlike those street glorifying hip-hop singers’

Note 3: Remember when ‘hip-hop’ used to be called ‘rap’? Did they change the name to try and make us forget that one time those rappers did that thing? Cause I for one will NEVER forget!

Note 4: Do something nice for the world, collect a bunch of fast food wrappers and dump them in a neighborhood full of fit people, the muggers will never know what hit them, and really don’t you owe this to trash?