Well, what I like to do is get a whole bunch of "money", so I can buy a whole lot of "time" with a hooker. I'll work something out, and her panties will be "any colour I like". She'll "speak to me" and say dirty things. We'll make love all night, and we'll both "breathe" real hard. Afterwords, I'll pay her, and she'll enjoy a nice line of cocaine; but she'll overdose and suffer irreversible "brain damage" before dying and heading off for "the great gig in the sky". Finally, with a dead hooker on my floor, and cocaine spread out on my table, the police will come knocking on my door. Between my dead hooker, myself, and the cops, it'll just be "us and them". I'll never survive in prison, and I know this, so at this point I'll be "on the run". When I finally outrun the police, I'll be panting loudly, and have a little "breathe reprise". In the end though, I'll have the satisfaction of a good hooker, a nice run, all of which will come to a close by me watching the moon "eclipse".


And the funny thing is, my original intention was to only write the first sentence of this message and then post...

"Somebody told me when the bomb hits, everybody in a two mile radius will be instantly sublimated, but if you lay face down on the ground for some time, avoiding the residual ripples of heat, you might survive, permanently fucked up and twisted like you're always underwater refracted. But if you do go gas, there's nothing you can do if the air that was once you is mingled and mashed with the kicked up molecules of the enemy's former body. Big-kid-tested, motherf--ker approved."