Indigo Samson (28)

   
   "Indigo Samson (28)"
   
   Miriam was napping in the fuchsia-hued Boss 429, it was alive with cam, a rumbling type of octave that stole her into the salty sea of dreams, whereas Buck the wolf wagged his tail; next, jumped out of the window in the residential area in which they were kinda/sorta squatting, and found the front yard of an opulent and ostentatious house filled with, probably, spoiled brats; then, smelling their greed, he took a raunchy poop on their front porch, howled at the incoming lunar-kiss, and sauntered, on all fours, back to the massive big block.
   Miriam snored a booger from her celestial nose, made to laugh in vibrant slumber by way of a comedic Brownie, who feared her ironic twist of humanity and angelity, as the Rh mutation flowed through her victorious veins.  It's good to be a hybrid, having your feet on the ground but your crown chakra in the heavens.  
   Next, Buck leapt backwards into the muscle car, proving his superiority over the Queen's English, knowing he had not only artistic privilege, but the privilege as a non-ignoble beast to crap wherever he wanted, especially if it was for a true Lady's purpose.  

L7 - Shitlist (Lyrics)

I'm so southern, I'm related to myself

   
   "I'm so southern, I'm related to myself"
   
   Yee-Haw, boy!  What, your only industry was cotton, and you were too lazy to pick it yourselves; thus, what were you gonna support your country on--making tampons?  Southern men still pick cotton when their wives go into a state of toxic shock.  
   Damn Yankees made American Great, back then.  Trump, crazy Yankee, and now--you're damn proud to be called a Yankee, boy.  
   I coyoted this headline from a blonde, female comedian--she knows who she is.  Yet, she's not the first, and she won't be the last.  We have plenty of comedy and tragedy to go through, as the bard knew well.
   Just laugh.  Don't be such a wussy.  I never started a fight.  Karma is a bitch.  And don't think I don't know, boy.  Still--prayers to you, but never Godspeed, unless you run mercurial to Christ.  Where would we be without morality?  All of us, pissing in the street.  Underhanded is not nice.  Better to be a heart-stabber than put the knife in the back.  And no strutting proudly like a peacock with a stick up your ass.  What, are you a freaking super-model?  Nope.     
   Damn, the Dodgers swept the Diamondbacks.  Way to go.  Not since 88' I ponder, ya'll . . .

Guns N' Roses - Patience

St. Valentine HD

Palpatine Talks About Darth Plagueis [1080p]

God Bless Santa Monica

   
   "God Bless Santa Monica"
  
   Santa Monica:  Saint Monica, mother of Saint Augustine, born on November 13th, the Virgin's number, and followed Mani, the supposed incarnation of the Holy Spirit, beheaded, and his body stuffed with straw before being hung on a gate.  Though Mani was better than we think; regardless, Saint Monica wept for her son.  Saint Ambrose, I believe, said that a mother who weeps for her son; next, that boy will live forever, as does the Son of David, Christ.
   And back in the 80's--I experienced the City of Angels, twice.  Cross country drive, through Apache territory.  Running into the Tribe at a gas station during the witching hour, my buddy "Ham" alongside.  We got outta there, kinda frightened, but respected them; then, drove my Mustang into the desert and took our pisses with the water-filled cacti.  
   The City of Angels was gorgeous in the 80's.  Rock and Roll; plus, no traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard.  Memories are fireproof.  I lost my QUEENSRYCHE album underneath a hotel couch out there, and I was only 18.