i'm a person just like you but i've got better things to do than sit around and fuck my head or hang out with the living dead snort white shit up my nose or passing out at all the shows i've got dishpan hands!
i'm a person just like you but i've got better things to do than sit around and smoking dope cause i know i can cope laugh at the thought of eating qualudes laugh at the thought of sniffing glue always wanna keep in touch never wanna use a crutch
flogging nasty likes to come home from work, crack open a milwaukee's best ice, throw the old dashboard confessional cd in the player, and start calling up the boys. that's right- the boys. see, flogging nasty has this...let's call it a sexual preferance that some might find, well, nasty.
it seems that he likes young men. but not just any young men.
he likes little mexican boys. around the age of thirteen. he told me once that that's the perfect age for latinos. you know, lucky 13. he says that but i think that he likes the thirteen year olds because a fourteen year old might actually fight him off to some success and probably kick his rooty-poo ass.
sure, sure he'll score with the occasional 13-year-old girl every now and then and brag about it...just because he doesn't want to arise suspicions about his promiscuity with the preteen homos.
we've got something to reveal. no one can know how we feel.
it's like eating a pill that doesn't make you feel either better or good. giving into circumstances over which you have no control. when you cry, your face is momentary. you hide yourself behind these scars in hybrid moments. times when you feel yourself behind the wheel of a badass twelve banger over which you have complete dominance. i walked into the grocery store, and saw grown fucking men selling papayas and juiceman juicers and foreman grills and some fucking raw meat. i saw terrifying creatures biting little kids. i saw pigs passing baggies. i saw little white kids picking up a game of basketball on a fucking baseball diamond. i burned things with my eyes, and i beat people down with my heart. i killed 20 cops before i realized that in order to become a ghost you must first become a ghost. the dirty brass souviners we collect along the way can be raked under leaves and trampled, but a fierce wind is blowing between my hands... and under my feet. so fuck you.
