Wednesday, August 18, 2004

So I might talk story with the terror skwad. Sheeiitt. And I thought Brandon was famous. After this, it’ll be like the jurk storr called and then forwarded morrissey’s co collaborator onto the line, and then we all wrote the ultimate album, assisted by the ghosts of Randy Rhoads and Big Pun.

I’ll keep you posted. Oh yeah, I’mma be the best. The bestest than the restest. At least in whut I do, for like, well, a while, and an open bar is involved, and, well, no, it’s not at the RNC although I wish I coulda been there, but it was more important to be south of the border for serious biz, and I’m not like that guy from west wing, you know, the prez’s chief of staff I think, it’s like, for me, the personals is mas importante then affairs of state, especially when it’s for the solamente una that is like, eh, you know how it goes, or, well, prolly don’t, but you should, it ain’t easy but goddaMn when you got that codified good shit, well, nothing can compare.

Just axe, uh, axl. No, actually, just ask, shit, just ask me. I know. Even though I don’t, not really, nobody does.

I’ve misplaced my masters of illusion cd & it’s pissing me off. Ps: fuck sam goody. Mofos ain’t even got keith’s new record on sale AND they had the nerve to have it hiding behind knocturnal, fukn cracked out crackalack, ok he’s not, but still, man, whut a mofo gotta do to get some dap up in this dusted dustry? So I moved that shit to the front of the rack, but I ain’t payin no $17.99. sorry mr. Thornton, you deserve better.


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