Squeeze me a Brompton’s cocktail and blow my joint while I eat this bird. I have a hard on for the kind of gasm only a world class hooker, or a hard shot of junk provides. My old man got tarred for drinking this bug juice, but I don’t care about tar – it’s the feathers I object too. I’ll blow my own brains out before I let anyone turn me into a chicken.
Those cold blooded bastards down at the lizard house have it in for dissenters who sup God’s own from the crystal cup. They incarcerate anyone who jacks up or spreads a little green on his lungs. Their war on drugs is a futile exercise in enforced conformity. The pressures of the market lead to standardization and the ubiquity of the mediocrity. Prohibitions cause criminality which keeps the law enforcers in business. Everyone is a would be snitch. Everybody is an enforcer trying to gun us down in a hail of psychic bullets. Pour me another baby; I’ve come over all terminal. I need to cradle my consciousness in velvet gloves.