"oh man, you know. My bitches brought me some eggs benny in bed for breakfast. Then one of them blew me while I ate it, of course. Cuz whats the point of having eggs benny in bed w/o a bitch blowin you, amiright?
After that it was time to bounce. Hopped in the caddy, started cruisin, look in the rearview and realize the hooker I killed and the dead pimp I jacked this ride from last night are still in the back seat. Drove up to the lake set the ride on fire, put a brick on the ignition, drove it off a bridge. Didn't actually see it explode in mid-air, cuz i was looking the other way, selling a key to some buster. Shoulda seen the look on that fake ass bitches face when the shit went off. Pussy ass motherfucker aint never even seen a stolen caddy explode midair in a blaze of glory over a lake. And he wants to hustle? Fuck no, did that punk a favor, blew his brains out and got my dope back. Then I had a good laugh when I peed on his stupid dead face.
My main bitch pulled up. And she's all "Well look at this dead pissfaced mothafucker right here, why you always pissin on peole after you kill em?"
Cuz I don't give a fuck, obviously.
Told the bitch to shut up and scootch. hopped in, put the juice on her ride, went out of my way to run over a squirrel, we both laughed. And decided we should hit that dead pimps hood and put the moose on the table for all his old hos b4 some other punk tries to, and then call it a day.
On our way I recited a piece I had been working on using my vegetable garden and recent conversion to veganism as literary devices. Shit was inspired by Robert Frost cuz that dead ass poetry writing motherucker was at the crossroads of nineteenth-century American poetry, no doubt, with regard to his use of traditional ass forms and modernism with his straight up gangster use of idiomatic language and basic ass subject matter.
The bitch pointed out that the garden and veganism struck her as metaphors for my devotion to the the primary virtue of Existentialism: authenticty.
She loved it so much we both started to cry. I said through my tears "Damn bitch, what in the hell is Existentialism? Shut the fuck up. It ain't about none of that shit. Its a metaphor for keeping it real. Damn." Since she saw me crying though, I had to kill her.
After I got home, I Iooked up Existentialism and realized I had just killed the only person who would ever understand me. Better off dead.
Can't get the jump on me now, can ya bitch? After that, I went out for some 40's with my homeboys. Typical Tuesday.