I was strolling along Hollywood Boulevard one dark and dreary night (as I usually do) when I suddenly came upon a bum. I walked past him and spat on him for being a detriment to society (as I usually do). Well, naturally he got quite pissed at me and challenged me to a duel. We made wagers like civilized people do. He bet his half drunken bottle of vodka, and I bet my dime bag of pot. Well, the fight didn't last very long since I pulled out my shotty and blew off his head. So I got the booze. Luckily he was a bum because nobody cared about him so I didn't go to jail. But don't tell anyone or I'll blow off your head too.
I could throw up from all the heroin I've been taking lately. Man, that's GOOOOOOOD stuff! Well, I don't think I'm sober enough to be typing, so I'm done.
I remember this one time when I was a young boy, I was playing Russian Roulette on the dock with my dog and Officer S. Hitty. Then out of nowhere this seaman docked his boat right by where we were playing. I think his ship was called the P.M.S. Douche Bag. Anyway, he came up to us and asked for some salt. Office Hitty told him to try the local supermarket. The sailor said, "I don't want any store-bought salt, I want homemade salt!" "I say, ol' boy, what are you blabbering about?" muttered my dog, Skip. "You know damn well what I'm blabbering about, don't you dearie?" he asked me in a girly voice. "Well, I reckon I suppose I do" I said like I had a pair. "Then give me some homemade salt, or I'll eat your liver!" the old sailor threatened. "You mean this salt?" I asked as I threw a handful of the anthrax (that I always keep with me for such an occasion) in his face. "What have you done, you bilge rat?!" he moaned as his skin melted off his face. "What a beautiful sight," the officer said as the sailor splashed into the water. "I don't suppose we'll see him aga--" BANG! Hitty pulled the trigger and was killed instantly as the awaiting bullet flew from the revolver and exploded the cop's head. "Well, I guess he lost, poor chap." Skip said solemnly. "Next time tomorrow?" I asked. "Right-o," skip said as we walked home into the setting sun.
I remember one time I got so drunk, that I passed out and threw up all over the place. Sinve I have the luck of the Irish, I didn't die, but I had vomit all over my naked, chicken-dancing body. How sexy!
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