BZZZT. NOT TEA TIME.well i was taking a walk down a dusty road when lo and behold i found myself a young minstrel playing a lute i asked him do you know where the bleeding fuck i can fix my jet its pissing out a storm and he said a storm you say? before firing out two angry swarms of wasps from his nipples. as he paraded after me i begin to reconsider my life. what did it matter not having a jet. everything that's what. everything. so i fucking kicked the sucker in the balls and took nine million wasp stings like the big sweaty man i am. when i was done i come back to the city, get some calamine lotion, and dab it on while listening to the soothing tunes of rod stewart. his love ballads sing the pain away and i'm pumped once more to build up my sweetheart. in the meantime this fucker i'm with decides to bring hell down on one of my girls so its hos before bros you know anyway hes gone now no idea what happened to him i think he bloody lost it or something too bad i think i may have gotten over his pissant attitude if he sang
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I'm planning the BBQ. You were invited until you tooled up my jet so now you're not.
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What th' flyin' fuck is wrong with you.
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[and he's totally heading downtown now]
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Thought ya died or somethin'. Toooo bad.
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But I wouldn't draw mention of your special little barbecues in juxtaposition with Selina's murder. It's tasteless. And unnecessary.
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