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Current Mood: Shitty (sweet Jesus H. Fuck I am witty)

Pop Shit

Cash me in, color me up, give me my 15 minutes so I can sell them for smokes.

Compared to the fucks I found yesterday, I have been doing an absolutely horrible, quarter-assed job of selling this plog out. I feel like a hooker with a heart of gold on her period—I know there’s so much more I could do to make a buck, but it just doesn’t feel right. I really think I need a pimp to slap me around, make me slip into something that rides up my ass, pushes my tits into my throat and then throw me out on a corner to strut my stuff to get paid.

So in that vein, and in honor of the king of unabashed pop sell-out who’s birthday is today, I am putting some lipstick on this pig of a blog, dressing up my shit in some color, ripping him off, calling it art and trying again. I’ve decided to take a page out of Andy Warhol’s book in the hopes idiots will fall for it and give me some money.

He truly was a genius. He colorized, blew up, copied and then sold figurative shit that people see everyday as art. I’m just trying to do that with literal shit. If I could follow in just .1% of his footsteps I would be happy. Of course I could live with out being shot by a crazy feminist cunt. But destiny is destiny.

No one gives a fourth of a cum covered turd what you think, but please don't let that stop you from spreading your insightful wit to the world by commenting below. Or fuck, you're such a pussy-eating faggot you're probably interested in the rss feed of this shitty site. Oy vey.