I'm more solid now than a wig behind a curtain. I can throw shoes at horses and eat with one of your hands tied behind my back like it's no harder than training farmers with no thumbs to ****** hoes till the pigs get wind of what's going down in ghetto town.
I want 2 pus burgers, 2 blood-clot fries, 1 bowel pie with extra mucus, and a small diet Coke. Daddy, I hate this place. Son, hatred is a terrible thing. Here, I got something for you. What is it? A bucket of rancid pig entrails.