You find comfort in the trauma, or whatever. I don’t know who I am, but I shouldn’t speak for you. These is facts, that fuckers rolled too tight and that resin gets clogged up and you really can’t get high. You’re goddamn kidding me, fucking off about a weed and pizza scene. And how would your idols feel? A bunch of old fucks trading forty bags for a shift meal. As if any of this ever meant anything to anyone.
Look here, anything you can think of, has been done to death. I’ll put it anywhere at your behests. I run the fuck out of this goddamn mess.