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Here is a love story it goes gfymb. Also. I do not want to explain everything I write to you via email. That is a prewarning. This is becuz I now have a new policy as far as email is concerned. 1. You must represent a legitimate firm. 2. You follow the Rules of Order. 3. You use the word delicious as often as possible when we meet with the foreign clients.

Wouldn't life be great if the things you pretend are real actually are or become or whatthefuckever somehow magically turn real? I mean. HOODOGGIE. One thing I would do is first find a rocket from a Somali terrorist org based out of my town becuz for some reason the govt hates me and moved everyone here - not racist - just bewildered - and I would tell everyone like hey get out of our FUCKING HOUSE and when they did and even the stupid dogs could escape too and the fish tank etc I would rocket the fuck out of this place and buy a pimped the fuck out crib in a neighborhood where I would disdain the neighbors for not being deepfucking writers and an artists colony and shit like that I mean think about it like pink champagne and grapefruit juice mimosas and like heiresses who lol at every blog post and also so much cocaine that a guy could give himself a psychotic break and end up in a hospital with everyone in his family saying o he did it again. 

Well actually that won't be part of the imagined world. Not in my Bentley. But I will have a girl chauffeur named Chauncey and she will have long hair and smell so nice and I will do everything I can to get her strung out so I can hit it with disregard until she dries up and blows away.

Also other things accompany that fantasy. Like going back to where they said I wasn't shit and pimp smacking the fuck out of them with my 4 FINGER RING>

like tyson rushin givens





Finally: My life is kind of like a womb. Think about it. Also a cocoon.