Wednesday, 15 February 2017


So here we are.
Another night where I wonder about the productivity of food.
J Dilla made me hate food.
It's because of him I don't eat.
I mean, I eat, but I don't like it.
But food might not be so bad after all.
However, one of my favorite foods, when consumed high, fucked my head up forever.

I was in Electric Lady with Chris Young, and he ordered some Chinese food.
I asked for General Tso's Chicken.
I got it.
But I was high.
So when I ate a piece of General Tso's Chicken, I thought there were wires in it.
I was too paranoid to continue eating and too hungry to stop.
The more I ate, the more it was revealed to me that the Chinese have a plot to keep me on Earth, as opposed to joining my fellow alien brethren/sistren in space.
Basically, General Tso's Chicken is a bomb.

A bomb!

So I did a serious piece of praying for SEGA.

If they even are going to take me back to space.

And continued to eat.

Here in lies the issue:
The same voices that told me SEGA is real... rather, the same means of communication, were used to tell me General Tso's Chicken was a bomb.
Can I still trust my senses?
Can I still be trusted with my senses?
Am I really that old and airheaded?

Fast forward to tonight.
I asked my grandmother to order me some General Tso's Chicken.
I'm that hungry, and seeing as how SEGA may have left me to venture into other parts of the galaxy and galaxies undiscovered, it wouldn't matter if the Chinese blew me up.

Now would it?


~follow the buzzards~

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