Who The Fuck Are You?

Draaaaaaaake is being called out, America may crumble as the superpower, broke people walk around with wires on their earpods (Ew) and I–well, I simply lounge on my tan cigarette burnt Lazy Boi in the back of my trailer while my illegitimate son stirs meth potions to sell to the local police department. In other words, I’m your average, everyday YouTube commenter.

This is not a space of hate, rather a space of acceptance. It’s 2019, and that’s the politically correct way of saying “trap rap is crap rap, the government is a convergent boundary undergoing subduction (for all you geology/earth science fans out there! No? Okay.), many more people have discovered opiates make you feel good and also rip your soul from your body (those two things happen simultaneously), and “sir” and “ma’am” have essentially become offensive terminology”. We can’t change these things, nor should we fight it, so let us instead hit our vape buttons quickly five times, blow out some ostentatious “O’s” to post on Instagram for some Instafame, and have a nice, long, laugh.

Or, if you’re the philosophical kind, a nice, long, terrifyingly endless cyclic process of thoughts, thoughts, and more thoughts.