Good Lord, first-degree murder, all for an innocent incident while I was mail-box-bashing. Fuck, what do I do now? Elbow box of dashed flashed the slashes, tomorrow I live until the lawn grows and dew flows, endless the days of dark summer noon.
And then I sat and pondered, I must have been pretty sloppy shitfaced when I said that but then suddenly I remembered… where are my pants and why am I bald? And why on earth is my labatian peep and toe heel shoved off my ass? What an epic night.
The morning after caused quite a stir, when Whitney Houston started banging on the door yelling “Baby Killer! Baby Killer!!!” I ran out of the house with no pants on, trying to grasp what was going on, only to find a boot on my car…
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