30 May 2007

more pretty ricky

Ill-matic:

Bet if i suck on dat pussy bet it'll get you wet
And rub my hand on dat clit bet dat'll get you wet
And run my tounge down ya neck bet it'll get you wet
bet if i suck on dem titties dat'll get you wet

I wanna lick you up(baby)
I wanna lick you down(baby)
I wanna make you scream(baby)
I wanna make you shout(baby)
I wanna put it in yo gut(baby)
I wanna make you nut(baby)

dont wanna fuck up ya panties you betta take em off
finna play wit dat pussy till i get ya moist
I cant fuck ya when ya dry 'cause dat'll turn me off
if i can smell it den baby don't put it in my mouth
i wanna suck on dem tities 'cause dey look soft
do me a favor an keep ya legs uncrossed
so i can lay on ya
dick out boxers off
got ya bitin on ya lip cause ya cant talk,
and after i give you dis dick i bet i'll change ya walk
an ima play wit ya clit
want you ta pull it out
get ya wet first den fuck ya to a coma
long as ya pussy stay wet
i can fuck ya how i wanna

If i cant hear dat pussy smackin
it aint wet enough, need to be able to hear it when i got you in a buck
need to see dat peach shinin when i open up
pussy full of juices niggaz hittin nuttin but gut,
gotta be able to get you leekin before i fuck
and got to get you off first before i even nut
i love ta run down on a broad dat got a soaker
super wet pussy you can hear it when you stroke her
nigga whole stomach be wet
when its over had ta throw away my sheets
'cause she left her puddle
wet pussy wit no smell a muthafucka
pussy so wet feel like she pissed on her self
pussy already drippin
she aint need my help
gotta fuck her on da floor
she leek everywhere
you can nut and go to sleep i dont even care
a street nigga wet pussy good for his health

29 May 2007

wrote this fey shit on the bus 2day

But maybe Adam licked a toadstool while Eve ate the apple
and Mary could wed Joseph at a walk-in chapel
Jesus and his disciples ate grits and beef jerky
and Sodom and Gomorrah couldn’t help but get dirty


me and bros at KO prom

28 May 2007

q nutz

hotboxed jetta, git yr chick wetta

get her real stank, pantin like an irish setta

pack a bowl tight, write a fuckin love letta

jnco dood say "dankest boneshack 4eva."

well it appears to me that in my linkschliv of a few minutes ago i didn rully introduce my boys pretty rickay-rickay-rickay very well. i ain even sure i can do it suffishently if i tried. fuck it, ya know? sometimes ya cant overthink thangs. ya just gotta flow is what im saying is what im all about rully. an i think pretty ricky feels me on that account. prolly thats the only intro that's necessary wouldnt ya say jinks? like to say a bunch of bros are down to flowing and letting the flow flow them is about all the accoladorade one can hope to sip in this falled wurld. have i spoke my piece? fuck if i know im just flowin, ya see. well prehaps its right to say that the spirit of pretty ricky, as jinks you wont to call it, is pretty allprevasive like to the heilege geiste. word. an when i was a boy, dipped in the depths of the jordan, just feelin around down there, suckin up the succours of the healin purifyin waters, i never thought that gettin wet as a stud would mean strokin the clit, as pretty ricky say. i hope ya dont think that crass, cause its just simple truth. i know hanbali or whatever the fuck this new clydes name is cant get a head for truth, hes all bound up in fantasies instead, but that dont stop me from speakin what i feel in my inner man. i wont make ya sick, tho im gonna feel ya with my dick, it ain no trick to rub a prick, baby, im yer cheswick. straight, no chaser.

pretty ricky's workout tips

if you wanna get a sixpack, like spectak, here's what you do: every morning you wake up, you gotta hit a honie straight. and you gotta eat right.

pretty rickay-rickay-rickay make you say whoa

Welcome to the Eschatological Blog

The end of times nears—in fact, the end of times is imminent. Well, perhaps only if you read this blog. Welcome to the post-ironic world and its frightening consequences. In this realm, reality ceases to be reality while simultaneously remaining reality. Here, human life ceases to be revolutionary because it no longer strives to surpass itself because it continually surpasses itself with every waking moment. An infinite line of paradoxes dwells within this finite space. Even Kierkegaard himself would fear to enter the Hotboxed Jetta. What then should you think of this cyberspace foray? Luckily, the answer to this question is nothing. You should think nothing of this blog because it is a blog. Therefore, it exists only as an arbitrary space for a group of pretentious college students to rant and rave and allude to T.S. Eliot, Michel Foucault, and Jaegermeister. Furthermore, two of its writers are Catholic school casualties. Unfortunately, that means that you will have to endure constant references to Thomas Aquinas’s Summa Theologica and even, perhaps, a conversation pertaining to the theological rift between former friends and professors Hans Kung and Joseph Ratzinger. Can you dig it? Probably not and neither can I. Yet I still plan to write for Hotboxed Jetta and that is probably why the end of times nears.

bedtime snack

well first thing to say ches is that your mad gay with all this pbs shit and this depression shit is pretty whack dood. stop lubin ur cock and get out and stock up on a shitton of that real sticky dro you clearly been bonging! we gonna need like a jillion bowls for our fuckin jokeland hotboxing adventure dood! pick up 40s at the O get a fuckin hot dog or eight get our dicks wet wtih some post-CCAC hipwhores illin outside of joe mamas u read? what the fucks wrong with u dood? crafton coochie really not bitin that stank? whatev. ur right on with the big ben thing. STILLERZ one for the thumb o sike alright boom-boomed that bitty STILLER NATION!

n e way dood some jokeland chipotle on tuesday? boneshack lives. stop being a fag


you wanna fuck auden

Times bein as they were, when a few bros just were wont to chill, I now do regret not invitin BIG BEN to throw down at the former BONESHACK. i know it's a long scoot on his cycle, and he's more into the artifical tan honies of Duquesqne fame, but i really do believe that ben woulda been gettin wide-eyed on the beetlejuice we flow at hamtech. we never even thought of sending him a postcard or any of that formal jive. we shoulda. just to let him know that the steeler nation is not an entity, to use the words of john brown, it's a universal idea, to use the words of george w. bush. ya know, bottom line, ben just rully speaks our language, the broskein tongue. maybe he wouldnta cared to get dank, i dont know if hes a greenbud or anything like that. but i say he woulda lovedta grind on some biddy badink at the annex, full annex wild type saturday night. prolly woulda fucked sara downey too, skeet as hell. invite big ben to vodka and wagner next year. just a thought.

if i ain dead already it's cause i'm jive to get heady


so it's like one a.m. last nite and im kinda punked, ya know how a dude feels late at nite after a full day of mopin round the house in his undies. yeah, i been mopin cause i been feelin kind low and empty lately, feelin as tho im havin a kind of crisis of sorts, if you can put jelly on that. (i know you can put jelly on that, jinkydro69). so i wrap up this heady philosophy i been readin for my class, some shit pertainin to infinite regression or inifinite aggression or infinite stiffy or whatevs, and im all, you know what, i'm just goddam kicked right now, fried as fuck. so i lay myself down and do what i do, throwins onins some pbs public broadcast for the masses (im kind of in a Marxist communal spirit with all the mopery alienation jive attached, too) and i see some pictures. get this: those cardigan clydes in squaresville are actually beamin some hep dro across the airwaves for once. its the rollin stones rock n roll circus, c. 1968, involvin the who, marianne faithful, taj mahal, and john lennon's groovepiece of the time. bros from cream, the stones, j.h. experience, et al are putting the jelly on yer blues with the bro who sympathize with one of my plight cause he knows what it like to be dead. anyway, this band's calling theyself dirty mac. and im all, "shit. my gurl ain in town how im opposed to get hard to somethin like that?" ya know it's dirty but it ain wet, hahaha, that's all im gonna say. so it was fairly dro, tho i wish i had some east end sticky in my veins to get me soft. thats word, jinks, weez uh score somethin better than even that. we roll on into the mckees rocks and get green to some angeldust dipped tea, if you can spread jelly on what im toastin. i think, in the final analysis, that the differnce is that i ain gettin my dick off these days, an i feelin a big squeezums in my saucepocket.

27 May 2007

oh another thing chess

yo i forgot to mention one saweet thing i did do:


legit hotbox, subaru-style. its hard to put what it was like into words but it was kinda like this:

haha

rich dude wang

WHAT?>
yo, I was watching latenite headline news and they were talkin some shit about Steve Forbes bein able to suck his own cock? N e 1 know nething about this?? lemme know. that like when marilyn manson tried to get his ribs out to do it? that's fucked up steve forbes? Pittsburg is mad boring all I been doin is checkin out dollar movies with my dormont bros and smokin south fayette hashish. theres a major drought on normal sticky so it's like y not. i'm bored. i saw norbit which was hillarius and u should see it definitely on a big screen cheswick. better than nutty professor which i know is hard to believe but i guess its mostly cause the fat prosthetics look better in 2007 as upposed to in 1995 or whatever. makes me want to watch daddy day-care again, which we should def do when you come up to visit chess. do they got any good-hittin dro in crafton u could bring up for that btw dude? cause they don't have mUCH HERE BUT what they do have is schwagass and dry as shit so u just cough for like fifteen minutes and feel pretty sick. last time i puked up this mad dog i was sipping (bird park style) and didnt even get high. the kid that packed that shit was a fag neway so no big surprise there. i almost kicked his ass right there for insulting me with that faggy shit but he was my ride so that would have kinda fucked me over tho it would have been tight and i was fuckin pissed. therere a lot of fags like that that deal weed in dormont but i bet u got a lot of shitty hustlers rolling whack shit in crafton too huh? ive been to robinson so i kinda know the deal. so n e way i hope maybe one of us can get some dece bud for next weekend or whenever we chill. i want to do so much saweet shit. 1 watch nutty professor daddy day-care bowfinger if we have time 2 smoke dankass 3 go to tom's diner eat phatass gyros real sloppy use our fakes at the bar next door 4 ace juggies at the bar next door 5 fuck em 6 scrabble. defineitly! u got ne better ideas? sike on that shit bro.

26 May 2007

dro files

so ya know yer like sixteen year old and yer fuckin breakin out to some extent but yer still under the yoke of yer 'rents, which is an unfavorable sitch in certain respecks. one time maybe you bust loose 'cause yer bro stanislewski's got hot wheels know and yer burnin up the town with the crew, hep cats all, an y'all decide that it's round about time to groove on schenley park, ya know the deepest dankest parts, where the hollow dips into the huge motherfuckin pond below the pretty atrium place. this is the spot where samonetti takes his girl when he's feelin to get his dick wet, so ya know it's solid jive, he says, and ya gotta believe him when he's all hard on about it. and maybe you've taken like one toke off a five-toke weed prior to this particular occasion, but yer by no means prepared for the kind of hydroponic delights those dirty dudes are peddling in the 'Slib these days. ya certainly never drooled five tokes off a one-toke dank like this before. so maverick o'donahue is packing the bowl all sick like, and y'all are passing that dropiece around with the houselights of south oakland reflectin in the silver pool all mystic and shit, pretty straight and reg, until OOOF BAM!, yer fuckin a miniature human figure dwarfed by the landscape in some droed up hudson valley school "ideal landscape" art history 101 shit and you can't get out of this artificial world for the life of you. it like makes you want to question that free will jive that's essentially the first principle of all catholic moralities, and then the very thought of power and institutions and universal ethics ignites yer super-ego, and you remember yer parents, probably shopping at pottery barn on walnut street right now for monogramed dish towels or some mundane shit, and ya start makin weird abstractions and incarnations. ya get heady self-conscious and ya think to yerself, "i gotta strengthen up and put a stop to this." and with this act of shopenhaeurian will YOU become the incarnation of an authority figure enforcin the rule of cosmic law upon yerself. you run up to yerself, ya shake yerself, thinkin, this guy must be helped out of his bad sitch. but it's all so fuckin illusory. before you know it there's a thousand of you just rollin like the sands of the ganges against the pond, and you start to forget which of the incarnations is really you. yer bros think yer havin an epileptic fit, so they steal yer pants and take photos of your balls. so that's like a pretty bad high. and that night, sleepin at stanislewski's place, you have the most morbid fuck dreams this side of the crazyhouse sequence in the lady from shanghai. ya get acquainted with the vortex, ya dig.