C'mon. It's supposed to be shit no one can give you. Oh wait, I get it. You already have that title; no one can give you what you already own.
Love that word. It's almost an onomatopoeia.
Me. They want my designs for a 120mpg carburetor, atomizing ray-gun, and alchemistic gold.
The fuckers are gettin' close... I can smell the foul bastards...
A biker buddy, who's now 65yo, told me that when he dies I could make lampshades out of his skin (he wants me to); dude has a serious amount of ink. I'm wonderin' what to do with his ear. It has a tat of a worm crawlin' out of it.
Peace?
Love?
A different self-image?
Your physique when you were half your age?
Utopia?
A career in ________?
A "perfect" significant other?
Last night, I fell/tumbled head-over-heels down a flight of stairs onto a concrete floor and got up without a scratch. I'll take that.
I doan know, E. I herd heez a member of one of them nations attackin' Merica with an army of one-armed-bandits an turnin' ordinary hard-workin' Mericans into fugitives.