JRussell's BlogNO!!!!

Anxious lists and teenage piss.

Suddenly all I wanted was get the old gang back together one more time for the collective “STEALING FLOWERS”, at least one more time, a couple times hopefully. The only reason I thought about shouting that was, well, because I accidentally gave myself the Marrrrrrrrrrr’bin Portillo makeover, ye’know, slicing my own face with a razor, glazing my baby face with sweet scars; you don’t want fuck with me. But it wasn’t really that. I don’t that OG flower shop street cred, what I want is a filthy old man’s beard, but I was shaving anyway.
So I’m not as bad ass as Marrrrrrrr-bin. You roll the r’s in my calling, and ye’choke and fail, the waterfall in Rock Creek park isn’t really that much of a waterfall but it’s the only waterfall that I really know.
So, yeah, JRussell ScarfaceNo. I got a tiny sweet little scar on shiny clean shaven cheek. Two parallel blade lines are visible, although I’m pretty sure I use one of those TRIPLE dildo razors, or at least that’s what I tell myself when I see them commercials.
Daddy-daddy
I’m bleedin’, I’m bleedin’.
I cut me’self shaving.
I mean, it’s a cut from a Dixie-whiskey brawl.
I mean, my fixed gear crashed into a bridge, because you know, brakes are for fakes.
I mean, the tabbouleh jumped up and bit me in the fuckin’face.
I mean, my sweet ass oversized sun glass slipped on the grease of my nose, took me by surprise, I choked on my diamond grill.
I mean, I got paper cut from my National Geographic. I am going to be a cartographer.
I mean, the crack torch slipped. Was just seeing how it worked.
I mean, my lesbian Fresh Fields exfoliating-oatmeal soap called bullshit on my face. Dry goods of the lesbian persuasion have the finest quips.
I mean, I overdid it with the flashbulb memories, the crystal daydream projector burnt out, I scratched a hole in my face trying to figure what the hell to do after that.
I mean, I cut my face up trying to lick up the honey-salt-dust at the bottom of the can of honey roasted peanuts, beware of that sharp inner edge.
I mean, I was grating cheese, drunk.
I mean, I was so excited to finally know how to shave on my own that giddily twirled that piece like crop circles.
I mean, I was distracted by the sheen of my hair.
I mean, I got that Orbit gum cancer.

(Sorry for the repetition. Sometimes I suck, but that’s long been established)