video
[There's Weaz. In his apartment at the MAC. Lyin' on his sofa. He's the sofa king. He's surrounded by the detritus of an obvious sickness: used tissues, empty orange juice bottles, a half-melted ice pack on his head, and so forth.]
[He holds up one finger, points to his mouth, which flaps a few times. No sound. He's apparently got some serious laryngitis. Then he holds up a little black box. It starts speaking for him. It's his voice, with just a touch of Stephen Hawking in there to make it interesting.]
ANYBODY_FEEL_LIKE_LENDING_ME_THEIR_HEALING_FACTOR_FOR_ONE_DAY?
I_FEEL_LIKE_FORTY_ACRES_OF_PUREED_HORSE_BUTTHOLE.
[He holds up one finger, points to his mouth, which flaps a few times. No sound. He's apparently got some serious laryngitis. Then he holds up a little black box. It starts speaking for him. It's his voice, with just a touch of Stephen Hawking in there to make it interesting.]
ANYBODY_FEEL_LIKE_LENDING_ME_THEIR_HEALING_FACTOR_FOR_ONE_DAY?
I_FEEL_LIKE_FORTY_ACRES_OF_PUREED_HORSE_BUTTHOLE.