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July 16, 2015
There ain't nothin left, ya know. Bulleyes plucked. The boys are out getting cooked in town. People like em cooked with taters. They's real good. Nothin out here no mo. All bullshit traipsing around like fancy saloon girls. They ain't fancy, just diseased, sad old ex-marines in drag. It's all bullshit, buddy. You all go back now, keep your house. Tain't nothin for you here no mo. Tain't nothing no for nobody no mo. It's all got the pox. Innards got puffy and green. It's all choked. Even the machines can't fuck no mo. It's all done. So quit.