so, the bastard is packing it in kids.
i had to burn the same disk,
just to get it right.
we're ready to get the hell out of dodge.
and head to the one city in america that i NEVER banked on knowing as much as i know my hometown.
so it's 5:30 tee off time for the bastard.
get it together.
pack the toothbrush.
and get in the company car. yeah, apparently there's a company car service. killing stuff's copy chief who we can call, the singer, lives here, on the rock and she didn't want to have to put up with time wasting logistics like taking the subway to the air train or paying 500 bucks to take a cab from manhattan to jfk.
fuck that grief.
so the singer found out that our evil ant overlords, have a car service on retainer. and they take you places.
places no man should ever have to go.
like the airport.
so i can get in a nice town car instead of a local cab service that smells like 5 day old cigarette butts and smoked salmon. good times.
great times. it's the bastard's sixth gun show and i say mullets ahoy muthagrabbers!