Discussion in 'Mayberry Lounge' started by Drunken Meat Fist, Oct 27, 2018.
(background atmosphere music) click and move along
But to bring up Charlie Russell like that, c'mon Sv'en, I'm done with this shit. You talk to mike's dad...
@Drunken Meat Fist
Have everyone make a character and name, otherwise I dunno how you could intertwine stuff, cool idea
It's Lemmy KIL MISTER, not minster, you don't kick the bar you lean into the bar and it's no vino veritas, it's EN VINO VERITAS
@Drunken Meat Fist
I like wine
She said the bumps don't hurt but the scars do.
Billie was a lock-pick between the sheets, he could always coax the loot with his slippery touch. Sadie couldn't get enough of him. She yearned for him always, and grew to loathe her clumsy husband, who happened to be a man you didn't want to trouble.
Pumps and a Bump. We only like the girls with Pumps and a Bump
hahaha, how bout that, hahaha, the novel kinda bends the mind, a soap opera without the soap. And we just keep popping up, hahaaha, hahaha. I'm Meat, I'm gonna be playing Mitch, an anti social, Han Solo type with an edge, I can't stand children and women and a deep aversion to the climate. I don't give a fuck, that was a good call, now ....ACTION:
It smells like old women in here, what the fuck have we been talking about. Have you seen what the fucking trees
If we're going to do this we need to do it right. When someone continues, the next person needs to quote immediately and say "mine". He can then come back if he got next and continue by editing that post. Otherwise it's just going to be a hot mess that's all over the place, which of course might be the entire point, but won't go anywhere.
Thinking back, why would Billy volunteer to check on Sadie when I was out of town, sometimes the pills I can't think straight.
I am such a fool to leave Sadie with a guy nicknamed the finger. Today will be a new start, right after I do the rest of what I got.
Looks like I cleaned out the whale, this trip to Cleveland wasn't a total wash after all.
I'll be Fat Tony, drunk and drug addict, husband to Sadie? I hustle pool, and have a bad temper
Billie watched too much West Side Story, we said art school and fuck that banana factory, Cheryl's never gonna be the same after shit, ...there's a reason they discontinued those fucking toys.
holy shit you just gave me goose bumps, how the fuck did you hit Kerouac as I hit Burroughs, there was nothing in the dialogue. That's fucking disturbing.
You were flowing like Kerouac, obviously he was on your mind at some level. I seriously considered Burroughs, that would have been even more trippy.
and then what do you do, curl up and die, fuck that, we're gonna figure out what to do with her and that fucking pig.
It will be to good to settle up with Mitch, tired of that fucker breathing down my neck over the money from that pool game we lost on.
Ol Mitch likes to fight, he thinks he is a bad ass, haha. Still remember when he grabbed me by the neck and starting hitting me in the face, he didn't expect that shank to come out so fast, and to impale his belly. That was a crazy night, thankfully neither one of us violated probation. Think I will give Mitch some extra cash for his hospital bills, hopefully that will soothe things over.
We're breaking that third or fourth wall, but we're in our infancy, ...I've outlived Kerouac and Cassady, and I'm never gonna be good with that. Not a lot in the way of father figures, and a horrible fucking night, a kid, relative like a son, got a phone call, and I just said he's dead isn't he, he's dead. He's not dead but he's gonna be gone for a long time now, and that ain't gonna work. They left him with me and he thinks I'm the man, he looked up to me in a big way because I've been through all the dark shit you can imagine, and the fact I exist was a template, well, fuck nothing, I also did shit behind the scenes and went to college and had pistols to my head from two different people I don't know their names. I've been arrested like candy for fighting when anybody locks eyes at me for more than six seconds. Hit with a shovel and put the hospital, hit by a car and a truck, can't make a fist anymore because my hands are fucking knots. I've stood on a chair with a rope around my neck, I've light the lights of my car and closed my eyes with the foot to floor with birds flying out of my way. You look up to me like a hero because I'm alive, so you can taste my scars. It's what I wanted, old and busted to fuck with a million people you encounter to tell your stories and sound your praises. I've flatlined,
I've been so open to people that they could walk in and take shit almost out of my hand. I've lost a lot, I've lost a lot, it fucking kills me you saw me as a template. I saw this, and I know this goes. My phones rings, I can't solve this. He's a tough fuck, he could be a model, girls drip off him because he has my deathwish, but I hold tight and this, isn't gonna go well, this wont last.
I've called this, and I'm gonna be posting a fucking thread in under two months. Goddamn it.
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