Weed Stories & Orange Cats

My Cat Turned Orange

Once, I'm sitting in a fuckin class, I've honestly lost all control, but in a way, gained all control. Because fuck whatever they're teaching me I'm teaching my own shit. No I'm not high on weed, and I never even had an orange cat. I'm just a stupid fucking liar I don't even understand what pi is. Fuck math and fuck the number 12 because when I was 12 my fucking parrot Duda died and it gave me ptsd. Once I sniffed her ass but all I ever smelled was broken dreams and rotten eggs. Dreams that got smashed into a morbillion fuckin pieces.

That's my life. That's Jimmy's life. A shitstick covered in decade ago expired birthday party sprinkles that everybody pretends to like when it makes your throat gag like you're sucking on a xxl bbc. That's basically it summed up.

But hey, I just want a woman to love me, hold me, tell me everything's gonna be alright even though I secretly know she's full of bullshit. She doesn't even have to be a parrot. All I'd ask is if she'd put on a beak and wave her attached feathers around while I'm fucking her raw maybe once or twice a month.

But God fucked me over in this life and I don't believe in anything but Guinness right now. No faith, I'm doomed for hell and I'll like it because my mommy beat me when I was a kid and now I'm a pathetic masochist.

When I die, I wanna be cremated and turned into a doll possessed by a hot assasin milf, and she'll wrap her thighs around my rotten dick each night, sighing, missing her dead husband.