Time to Vomit

Fuck you! You, you, and you. Fuck you. Fuck him. Fuck that dude. Oh and her too. I forgot that chick over there, yeah, fuck you. Um, fuck you. F you, yeah you, don’t get it twisted. I am pointing my finger at you aren’t I? You, no behind you, yup with the LA Dodgers cap on—fuck you. Fuck my sister. Fuck Bush. Fuck Cheney. Fuck Gore. Fuck that whore. Fuck politics. Fuck voting! Fuck Tabasco sauce on chicken wings. That Rican dude over there in the shadows, fuck you. Oh, you’re Dominican? What’s the difference? Shit, my bad, rescind that. This club, yeah fuck you. This Irish whiskey, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! Damnit! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck. F. U. C. K. Huh? This poetry night bitch! And I am slammin you, ha! Fuck lines. Fuck boxes. Fuck bitches. Fuck double entendres. Fuck Bush. Fuck the police. Fuck a nappy headed hoe. And fuck Don Imus for looking like an unwise wizard who needs to shave, not trim, those eyebrows. Fuck that dude for saying hello to me in the street even though he was just being nice, doesn’t he know I’m “hard”! Um, fuck that lid that I can’t get off in front of my lady friend. Fuck that dude who flirts with my girl even though she ain’t my girl but I’ve been half staring at her for the last 43 minutes and been thinking about how to flirt with her. Fuck courtship! Nah, fuck mulling things over. Fuck sitting and waiting. Fuck hope. Hope ain’t never done did nothing for my fucking ass! Nope! Can I get “Fuck You.” “Fuck You!” Fuck you. Yeah, I know I don’t know you but from the way you wear your shirt it seems like I would have said ‘Fuck You’ to you some time tonight. It was either now or later when I would walk up to the bar, grab an Amstel light—Fuck Light, no excuse me, Lite beers—and smile at you and turn my head and as I walked away I would say, unsheepishly in the other direction, “Fuck you you fucking cunt rag!” This whole scene is crazy ridiculous. Fuck this scene. Fuck crazy ridiculous. Fuck big tits, where’s the humblness. Fuck humbleness, where’s the pussy! Fuck hard-ons when looking at an unattractive chick. Go the fuck down!!! Fuck me. Fuck my lack of a personality tonight, I’m suffering. Fuck Bush. Fuck this city, this town. Fuck that putrid smell from my armits, I so swiped my armpits 5 times with that reddish Old Spicy deodorant before I put that cologne on. Fuck dinner napkins. Seriously, just be messy. Live like a fucking hog. Fuck people not eating swine! Pork, bacon, ribs and ham: the shit! Fuck tofu! Fuck metaphors. Fuck fucking. Fuck the mornings. Fuck that water that comes out when you squirt the ketchup bottle. Fuck these new multi colored, limited edition, once in a lifetime Air Force Ones. Those colors fucking suck! C’mon now, who the fuck rocks orange and pink shoes! Fuck Michael Jackson’s traumatic childhood, he’s a fucking freak! Fuck terrorsits, get a day job! Fuck sinning. Fuck redemption. Fuck cuss words. Fuck being polite. Fuck being walked all over. Fuck having to put up with this again. Fuck her. Fuck her. Fuck her. Will someone relieve me and please, fuck her over!?! Fuck that dude who’s trying to make small talk with me at this party and I’m not interested but have to be because I feel obligated because this is his pad and he’s throwing his first party and feels all gushy inside and wants to meet everyone although if we met on the street he’d give me a dollar. Fuck bitching about the “Man”! Fuck Carlos Mencia and his “beaner” jokes. Fuck comedic boundaries. Yeah, Joey, fuck cats for mistaking “Making it Rain” for a light drizzle! Fuck shining! Fuck a fitted. Fuck Gilbert Arenas and his “Agent 0” Adidas commercials! Fuck Facebook! Fuck my addiction to the internet. Fuck me expressing myself. Fuck blogs! Fuck this dog eat dog world. Fuck reality television. Fuck my mind for watching it. Fuck lists. Fuck reading. Fuck listening. Fuck this dude who keeps interrupting me from getting my timely two cents in. Fuck that bitch who wants her penny back. Fuck McDonald’s for putting my cream and sugar in my coffee; stop being so nice! Fuck sarcasm. Fuck las drogas. Free your fucking mind. I switched it up there, you catch that? No. Well, fuck you! Oh, you like me too and think I’m nice… Fuck YOU! Oh, fuck Renee Zellweger. Fuck talking. I’m done. I think I’ve even worn myself out tonight with all these “Fuck Yous”. Uh, oh! Not again: Fuck cabs. Fuck doors. Fuck oil. Fuck drunks. Fuck hobos. Fuck littering. Fuck wars. Fuck soldiers. Fuck kids. Fuck kids? It slipped. Fuck it, I’m walking home tonight in this stupor. Someone tell me to shut the fuck up, I dare you! What was that? Okay. I will.