5:royst> i was junior athlete of the year in my school! then i got a girlfriend
5:the_paul> calculus is not a girlfriend
5:royst> i wish it was calculus
1:royst> did you all gangbang my gf or something
1:fermata> why dont you get money fuck bitches instead
OK So me and a few friends went up to broadmoor emporium and bought some triple C, it was like woah. They were like "Yo Jerome, take some DXM!" "I dunno guys, seems dangerous." "C'mon!" "OK!" Alot of people take 8 pills for starters but I consider myself a tough guy, pretty jaded and all, so I took 15. I didn't really feel anything at first, until we got to Stafford's house. Ethan the Jew sat down to play guitar, and halfway through some jangly mexican tunes the walls began to breathe, oh man it was weird. So anyways I woke up in a pool of my own vomit, outside on a couch. I spent an eternity trying to open the door, but it was locked. I woke up again and I didn't know my name, and as I was crawling down the stairs my thoughts were pretty much like the sound you hear when a Resident Evil zombie bites your neck and chews sinews and tendons, that NYAHGAHZANYAHNYAHNYAHXABDSB sound. So anyways I wake up caked in dried vomit and there's this zebra, but it wasn't a zebra, it was a donkey, a zebra-colored donkey. zonkey! anyways he wasn't THERE, but he was like in my head. So I go inside (apparently the door wasn't locked) and by this time I'm ok I guess, except that godamned debra. But, Stafford passes me a joint, and somehow this gets my shit running again, and I watch my soul leave my body and I'm in the afterlife. Well not me, really, I don't even believe in it. So I woke up again and I drove home, here I am.
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