Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Twenty-somethings RULE!

Look at this spoiled little shit rapping and breaking things while getting paid by some corporate monster his image seemingly has no regard for. Machine Gun Kelly. He must have named himself after the Time Crisis 2 arcade guns.

He kinda looks like my old meth head roommate. I bet my old meth addict roommate has his mixtape.

Speaking of my meth-addicted roommate: he did listen to rap that claimed to hate America, corporations, and white people and all of the rappers he listened to were white. This is referred to as "meth logic." Nothing makes sense except for that weird chemical smell and fleeting feeling of euphoria. 

He also framed pictures of his dogs. He had about 5 framed photos of his dogs and 1 framed photo of his child in the living room. It was so confusing that I thought maybe it wasn't his child. Maybe it was his nephew or something. I asked him.

"That's my son. The love of my life."

"Where does he live?" I asked.

"I don't know. It's been years since I've seen him."

"Are these your dogs?"
"Yeah, those my dogs," he'd say. "Loves of my life."

"Where are they?"

"In my son. He ate them," he said as he proceeded to steal my beard trimmer worth $5 to try and sell for $2 for a down payment on more drugs.

Have you ever seen Zeitgeist or Loose Change? I have. Not willingly. He'd have viewing parties for other stupid people and I'd get stuck watching them or hearing them. Don't bother borrowing a cigarette from my old meth-addicted roommate. He'll remember and charge interest two weeks later when he spends all his money on meth and doesn't have enough money to pay for cigarettes and hasn't yet thought of stealing your beard trimmer.

He used to invite a cello dude over to play the cello and would ask him to try and figure out bass lines in rap songs. Not sure he knew the difference. He also had two trumpets that, when he played, sounded like a kazoo being farted into. He never bothered pawning those off. He was once in a ska band. Trumpets have sentimental value. Other peoples' beard trimmers do not. 

Despite all of his dumb-fuckery, he was a talented tattoo artist. He'd have weird people hang around and wait in line so he could tattoo them in his bedroom. He was also "allergic to dust." It made him sneeze. I'm pretty sure everyone sneezes around dust when it gets in their nose. 

You might think this is an ode to my old roommate. It's not. It's to my fucking beard trimmer. 

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