"Look how old school I am in my top hat and bow tie"

Drunk as a Russian Brother Whore. I came across a pond, and had to choose to walk on the rocks or Lilly pads. The rocks represented power, and boldness. The lilies represented knowledge and a light spirit. I walked across the rocks, but then returned across the lilies. I became a great leader, and led revolts toward the towers. My boldness allowed me to fight epically on the battlefield, while my cunning instincts granted me the skills to develop tactics of stealth and quietness. Assassinate the weaker races, they said. I refused. Stripped of my position and weapons, I was left to rot in a desert. I lit of my remaining joints of herb, and walk. I have no steed, so I travel on a cloud of smoke. It gives me a dark, yet curious appearance. Peasants glared me down as a demon, while you accepted me. Hair of calm red. Delicate lips. Loving attitude. Calm voice. The ashes of my cigarette burn low, like this country’s personal pride. Read this, Mr. President. You, and your infamous ninja propaganda techniques. I still trust you. Remember the Alamo. Remember our records of original independence and freedom. Remember families, freedom. American rests on your afro, *cough*, I mean shoulders. Remember my horrible sex life. I receive as much poonannie as an ant with a broken antenna, unable to receive his queen’s energetic love waves. I am speaking in old hieroglyphics, aren’t I? Drunken and lonely ronin. A cast away kid’s toy. Left to collect dust in a closet, just like Jack Black’s career in ten years. A intergalactic monstrosity had sexual intercourse with my ideas of truth. The nurses tried to vanquish me to the pits when I was born. I broke free. An infected, cybernetic soldier baby. Equipped with a bad ass stereo system. Mega bass. The sound waves reach Jupiter. Jupiter’s lush forests of strange vegetation. Two headed behemoths of fear. The Great Old Ones fear me. I taught them all they know. Seventh beer, fifth cigarette. Still in the writing mood. Crocodile armored warriors. A brilliant army. I have to fight them all. Or, should I become an ally? The Dogs of War are not spooked by the sirens tonight. Even if it’s a tornado drill alarm. I think tornadoes are Cthulu’s hour glasses. Each one marks a time closer in his return. Bob Dylan - “There must be some way out of here, said the Joker to the Thief.” I looks like I’m smoking dragon eggs. Holy hell I’m getting way out of perception. Jupiter, one eye, open it’s lids, gaze into mine. I keep hearing gushing wind. Astronaut is a weird word.

Quote from Krob

Drunk as a Russian Brother Whore. I came across a pond, and had to choose to walk on the rocks or Lilly pads. The rocks represented power, and boldness. The lilies represented knowledge and a light spirit. I walked across the rocks, but then returned across the lilies. I became a great leader, and led revolts toward the towers. My boldness allowed me to fight epically on the battlefield, while my cunning instincts granted me the skills to develop tactics of stealth and quietness. Assassinate the weaker races, they said. I refused. Stripped of my position and weapons, I was left to rot in a desert. I lit of my remaining joints of herb, and walk. I have no steed, so I travel on a cloud of smoke. It gives me a dark, yet curious appearance. Peasants glared me down as a demon, while you accepted me. Hair of calm red. Delicate lips. Loving attitude. Calm voice. The ashes of my cigarette burn low, like this country’s personal pride. Read this, Mr. President. You, and your infamous ninja propaganda techniques. I still trust you. Remember the Alamo. Remember our records of original independence and freedom. Remember families, freedom. American rests on your afro, *cough*, I mean shoulders. Remember my horrible sex life. I receive as much poonannie as an ant with a broken antenna, unable to receive his queen’s energetic love waves. I am speaking in old hieroglyphics, aren’t I? Drunken and lonely ronin. A cast away kid’s toy. Left to collect dust in a closet, just like Jack Black’s career in ten years. A intergalactic monstrosity had sexual intercourse with my ideas of truth. The nurses tried to vanquish me to the pits when I was born. I broke free. An infected, cybernetic soldier baby. Equipped with a bad ass stereo system. Mega bass. The sound waves reach Jupiter. Jupiter’s lush forests of strange vegetation. Two headed behemoths of fear. The Great Old Ones fear me. I taught them all they know. Seventh beer, fifth cigarette. Still in the writing mood. Crocodile armored warriors. A brilliant army. I have to fight them all. Or, should I become an ally? The Dogs of War are not spooked by the sirens tonight. Even if it’s a tornado drill alarm. I think tornadoes are Cthulu’s hour glasses. Each one marks a time closer in his return. Bob Dylan - “There must be some way out of here, said the Joker to the Thief.” I looks like I’m smoking dragon eggs. Holy hell I’m getting way out of perception. Jupiter, one eye, open it’s lids, gaze into mine. I keep hearing gushing wind. Astronaut is a weird word.

K .

Would you?

Yes I would.

Yes I would.

**** yes I would.

Yes I would.
Oh no It's Jermey.BOOOOO

Hey Guys.

Im going live on StickAM, and nudes.

Who is in?

Username and link, now.

Quote from Cade

Yes I would.
Oh no It's Jermey.BOOOOO

How about you learn to spell my name right, I think that would be pretty awesome.

Non-Annoying Faggots only.

Quote from The laughing man

How about you learn to spell my name right, I think that would be pretty awesome.

But you're covered in JERMS

I can spell your name, F-R-E-D, F-R-E-D, B-U-R-G-E-R.
FRED FRED BURGER!YES.

Quote from Gavel

But you're covered in JERMS

And here come my childhood memories...