This concussion sure is making me sleepy.
The Guinness people have been bugging me again.
No, not the beer manufacturers. I've actually been bugging them a little. No, what I mean, is those "World Record" bastards. They keep calling me, telling me they want to do a piece on me for "Most Extreme Restraining Order." Yeah, evidently 2,000 miles is some kind of record. I guess I shouldn't have read my poems at the trial, or said the judge was "A cock sucking spawn of Satan," for trying to keep us apart. Yeah, it's rough. I wear an ankle bracelet that pretty much dictates my day. I'll be lying in bed at four in the morning, and it'll start going off and tell me that I have to get up right now, and go two miles North West in twenty seconds, or the police will come and beat me. It sucks a lot of the time, but since she moved to New York, things got a lot easier. Before that, I had to spend a lot of time in South America. And guess what, it turns out they don't even SPEAK American in South America. How much sense does THAT make?! The thing that really pisses me off, is whenever she visits her parents in Michigan, I have to go to California and sit in the Pacific Ocean for a couple of days. I don't have time to pack or any shit like that. I don't get any warning. I have to just walk out on my job in the middle of the day, no idea where I'm going, or how long I'm going to be bobbing in the ocean while she's enjoying Thanksgiving with her family. I swear, if that cock sucking spawn of Satan of a judge would just let me call her a couple of dozen times a day, we could co-ordinate our plans so I'd be prepared and stuff. Anyways, I could probably make some much needed cash off this Guinness thing, but as per the restraining order, my name's not allowed to appear in print in the same book as her name. SHIT! It's beeping! I have to go to... Oberlichen?
What the fuck is Oberlichen?
No, not the beer manufacturers. I've actually been bugging them a little. No, what I mean, is those "World Record" bastards. They keep calling me, telling me they want to do a piece on me for "Most Extreme Restraining Order." Yeah, evidently 2,000 miles is some kind of record. I guess I shouldn't have read my poems at the trial, or said the judge was "A cock sucking spawn of Satan," for trying to keep us apart. Yeah, it's rough. I wear an ankle bracelet that pretty much dictates my day. I'll be lying in bed at four in the morning, and it'll start going off and tell me that I have to get up right now, and go two miles North West in twenty seconds, or the police will come and beat me. It sucks a lot of the time, but since she moved to New York, things got a lot easier. Before that, I had to spend a lot of time in South America. And guess what, it turns out they don't even SPEAK American in South America. How much sense does THAT make?! The thing that really pisses me off, is whenever she visits her parents in Michigan, I have to go to California and sit in the Pacific Ocean for a couple of days. I don't have time to pack or any shit like that. I don't get any warning. I have to just walk out on my job in the middle of the day, no idea where I'm going, or how long I'm going to be bobbing in the ocean while she's enjoying Thanksgiving with her family. I swear, if that cock sucking spawn of Satan of a judge would just let me call her a couple of dozen times a day, we could co-ordinate our plans so I'd be prepared and stuff. Anyways, I could probably make some much needed cash off this Guinness thing, but as per the restraining order, my name's not allowed to appear in print in the same book as her name. SHIT! It's beeping! I have to go to... Oberlichen?
What the fuck is Oberlichen?