Ripped, torn, and sewn back together.
Once upon a time there was a little boy named Mike. At a young age, he discovered that he had the ability to do things that other kids couldn't do. Get away with murder. There weren't any actual murders to get away with, but never say never. There's still that little stuttering bastard in New York I want to get my hands on. Anyway, back to the story. He came to a turning point in his life when he had to decide whether to use his powers for good or evil. He consulted a very young Dr. Phil, his trusty Magic 8-ball, and even his local dope peddler, who was wiser than Buddha. Finally, he made his decision. Fuck everyone, I'm doing whatever I want and nobody can stop me.
It's how I came to be The Mike Patton. The man, the myth, the stone cold midget tosser. I can't claim to be the only genius around, but I can tell you with all certainty that I'm the only one who's exactly like me. Not many can say that. They're tough words to live up to, so I take it day by day and joint by joint.
If you need me, you can look in the Yellow Pages under P for Pimp for M for Mascochist. That's also where you'd go to look for an attorney or a chiropractor. Coincidence? Possibly. Maybe. Probably. Do I care? Possibly not. Probably not.
Let the games begin.
It's how I came to be The Mike Patton. The man, the myth, the stone cold midget tosser. I can't claim to be the only genius around, but I can tell you with all certainty that I'm the only one who's exactly like me. Not many can say that. They're tough words to live up to, so I take it day by day and joint by joint.
If you need me, you can look in the Yellow Pages under P for Pimp for M for Mascochist. That's also where you'd go to look for an attorney or a chiropractor. Coincidence? Possibly. Maybe. Probably. Do I care? Possibly not. Probably not.
Let the games begin.