WEED FAIRY POT SMOKING SKATER POSING GANGSTA WANNA BE

longest title i've had yet.
ahh shiit.
someone get Guinness on the phone.
alright so guess what this ones about?
someone...something....somehow...bothering the ever living shit outta me.
anything new?
fuck na,
kay so my brother has this *friend?* named jake.
&nope. that name WAS NOT changed.
soo. last night i was at this dipshits pool.
and MEAN MR MUSTARD jacob was doin tricks (?) on his skateboard (?) with his six pack (?) a-showin it's true colors.
shiit. wheres that notepad of mine?


*NOTED*
a) get new notepad.
b) tricks? i could hardly call that a toddler crawl.
c) skateboard? im thinkin he might've found this *board with wheels* in his creek where his crackhead-fucked-ass-loser-no-shit older brother lives. but hey, this could just be the rum i had last night in my diet coke.
d) sixback? shiiit brah. wouldn't call it flab, but there was deff some love action goin on. *EHEM* correction! love HANDLE action goin on.


so back on crack...'xuse me. TRACK. i was sittin on a deck chair, texting, talking on the phone w| a friend of mine about her loser ass son of a bitch weed fairy fuck stick of an ex boyfriend. *further blogs will be included on such yanking motha Satanette.
so we were on the phone talking about Satanette's lack of being able to board. at all. ya know, talkin about how he cant do an ollie to save his fat ass mother's life. normal stuff. for me. OUT OF NO WHERE we (i?) hear.
"HELL JAKE! THAT WAS ONE KICK ASS 90 DEGREE!" nonetheless, it was number one fan Austin cheering on his fellow poser. i hang up the phone.
"do it again jake. this time multiply it by four" i say,
"360? Jake cant do that!" austin.
"how long have you been doing this again?" me.
"two and a half years. wait, are you including the half year he was in Reno? oh! what about the two months he was in nyc?" austin. didn't know why he didn't pull out his day planner of about 5 years. *snap* he never even included the times he was sick. i mean stomach flu? fatal. crucial to the whole wanna-be-punk-ass process. puhhhhlease.
"wait wait wait austin. you hush yer ass kissin mouth for just about three seconds. go study the facts on the back of the flash cards you crafted up in the time that jake actually WASN'T signing autographs. im pretty sure your mac/apple has you penciled in for a "iPop" quiz next tuesday." *me*
i guess all i heard we 'OOOOOHHHH!'s and 'SHIIIIIIIIIITTT!'s. whatever,
swear ta god, i thought austin would start crying. so he just ran to the basement. what the fuck ever. prolly goin to shoot up. be my guest. oh, & im pretty sure my mtherm has her exotic crack pipe from Hawaii in her purse somewhere in the 'adult room' upstairs. just a-tippin you off there, pal. just be careful of the strippers. they're the cheap kind. im sure theres crabs walkin all over the walls up there.
'madi you are the mother fucking shit' high fives, secret handshakes that i swear to effing god were never taught to be before this, and even a butt smack? if i knew who it was, they'd be face-down in the pool STILL as i type this. fuck ass pervs.
so? to sum this whole SHABANG up, i asked jake one, teeny, tiny, little, simplified question.
"ollie. do one." i say,
"no shittin problem." jake.
skate up the ramp, turn around, push off anddddd....
guess where that landed him? well, it actually DIDN'T quite land..but hey, couldn't two ambulances and one fire truck clean that up?
course not.