Keepin It A Hundred Percent
I Feel.
At Times.
Compelled.
To, Well...
More or less cop a plea.
These Lickety Clicks take place several hours.
Days.
Later while kickin it with my Homey.
An out Da Blue Epiphany if you will.
As my Dawg Manipulates Baby Mamma some 3000
plus miles away.
Baby Girl trippin.
I am lost in some sea of oblivion counter stepping
the last 24 and on.
Then it happens.
I pick up an Android.
I read what I had written.
Honestly.
I haven't anything less than a fraction of a brief inkling.
What I had in the first place written.
As well.
When I am actually in the moment of
dropping a few pecks in the authoring of this story
or that.
I haven't one bit of a damn clue what I am actually, at whatever point writing.
For sure.
Ten minutes after I walk away from whatever computer I just raped for all her
dancing pecks along her ever so wide keyboard.
I couldn't tell Ya what I had just laid down on the screen.
I will say that what is about to transpire on this screen in a
skinny minute is not any of the above.
Todays words are deeply embedded in my mind.
Chillin with my Dawg Bobby.
We yak.
Shit comes up.
Da world.
Just what it iz.
Yeah.
You seeing what you seeing Martha.
Nothing to ponder.
For sure nothing to figure out.
Action.
Reaction.
As always Bobbies Philosophical aspect on this thang
called life iz direct on da nail.
"Like dis my Nigger.
Jus God.
Straight up.
The deal been pre destined before we sucked that first whiff of air.
Got no choice Dawg."
There Ya have it.
My Dawg summed it up.
In the final analysis the constant Eb and Flow of all relentless desire with out any conscious provocation related to keeping it one hundred percent inevitably at some point piss's someone off.
Oh well.
Dats Awaight.
What it iz all bout.
A lightening bolt so the fuck large the science community has not
even begun to calibrate this beast.
Travelin at ten fold multiple mach up the crack of your ass.
Until.
Slam Bam Da Fuck Whammo.
The lightening bolt of Truth slams directly
on target hitting the base of your spine.
Lighting you the fuck up.
You b awaight.
For sure.
Damn enlightened
Yeah.
I'm droppin a peck.
I just finished reading the Wall Street Journal here at
the Foothills Library.
Germany iz up to their Racially Driven Hate and Murder.
Yet.
Again.
Thingz are not much better in the Fag country of France.
Damn. Those people stink.
Nasty ass people the French.
Small Dick White Boyz all up in arms regarding my Jewish Brothers and Sisters.
Kinda like they were all up in Nazi arms regarding my Muslim Brothers and Sisters
a few years back.
I ain't gonna lie.
Ya All build some sweet carz.
Porches.
Mercedes.
I have owned quite a few of both.
France.
Ya All don't build a thing, except for of course stench crazed citizens.
Ya All stink to high hell.
As well a bunch of Candy Ass Bitches.
When it comes to building hate driven death by the millions
Germany.
Ya All on the job.
Hate and Prejudice seems to accompany Small Dick White Boyz.
Especially Small Dick German White Boyz.
I as well know that I have a substantial German Audience.
Thank You Germany.
Thang iz.
Swamp don't do hate.
Any Type of Hate.
In essence Germany.
Fuck You.
Fuck Your Fat Ass MuthuFuckin Mamma.
Get The Fuck Off My Blog.
Now.
Today.
Regarding France.
For that matter.
Fuck you too France.
Stay Da Fuck off my Blog.
Fuck your Stank Hole Fat Ass French Mamma.
The rest of Europe.
If all this offends you.
Fuck You Too.
Like Dis.
We West Side.
West Side Till We Die.
Ya All Can't Hang Cause Yo Clickety Clan.
Yo Hate Permeates Across The Entire Mutufuckin Globe.
Fuck you.
We West Side For Life.
Take Your Candy Ass Little Small Dick Selves Da Fuck Outta Here
See Ya Germany.
Rest of Da World.
Better Know The Dress Code.
The B's and the C's.
Stay Blue.
Ya All Ain't Blue.
Ya All Ain't True.
FEEL ME?
SO FAR?
This has been a Swamp Editorial.
Ryan. Out.
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