I awoke one June 24 morning and realized after nothing that really would ever lead up to any sort of enlightening realization that I wanted to be a buffalo-bowlin’, hookah-snortin’, bathtub-drinkin’, duck-snatchin’, tree-itching, crack-smackin’, moose-fisher! So I did what any (copy-paste what I just said) buffalo-bowlin’, hookah-snortin’, bathtub-drinkin’, duck-snatchin’, tree-itching, crack-smakin’, moose-fisher would do, I just sat there, and rolled around on the ceiling a little bit, just a little bit, going mehhghjdghjhhheeheghjfgjhhheehefgjhfghhehehfgjhfghjeheh! I was never going to get to be a bbhsbddsticsmf ( correct pronunciation = is bbhsbddsticsmf for all you grammar communists and spelling Nazis out there, yeah you, you got’ dayumn, god-hatin’, Merican’killin’daughters of those things that you kind of hold like this, and shoot, and it goes BANG BANG BANG, yesiirrrrr those… ). Anyway, then I saw a cow die and ‘nother cow got up off his lazy butt like any good ol’ Merican’ cow would…
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syndax vuzz 