Wednesday, September 22, 2004

For those of you who don't know, Spanish class is intensely boring. A few days ago, we were split up into groups to draw maps of the Caribbean with magic markers. Instead, I repressed violent impulses to spasm on the ground and channeled my pent-up agitation into a rap about cybernetic tigers:

Crawl through the jungle on your hands 'n' knees
Raise your face to the sky, smell death on the breeze.
There's a man-made horror creepin' through the brush
Orange and black, you're gonna get crushed!

They come from a lab, from the future unknown,
Flyin' through the trees, metal and bone,
Five-hundred pounds of cyborg death,
When they crush your ribs you'll be all out of breath.

As you can tell, the rap possibilities this topic opens up are limitless, so whoever can come up with the best cybernetic tiger rap will be slated to co-host Don't Pick At It for one show.

Niggaa whaaaaat!

Sunday, September 19, 2004

There's this little kid with a broken heart running after me, but he's running too slow.