TFW ya ass goes to the fridge tryna getcha drank on, but ya bum ass roommate drank the last Faygo and ya ass gots to put your shoes on to go down to the 711. Ya get there and you're standin in the cooler aisle, starin at them dranks, when your mind suddenly gets hit by the sudden epiphany that you are a cog in the wheel of a vast machine called Capitalism, and before behold, that machine is also called Death. The government is corrupt and we're on so many drugs, with the radio on and the curtains drawn. You grab a Moon Mist Faygo from the cooler because there's nothing more to do and you walk to the counter in a daze, a delirium, a waking dream. You wait in line, patience ever a virtue, and when you get to the register, you sit your Moon Mist Faygo down, reach into your back pocket, and pull out your wallet.
You pull out your wallet and it's full of blood.
Damn, homies. I ain't gonna get no writin done at this rate.
MMFWCL,
JCB69xXx