Let me make one thing straight.
I drive a Scandinavian car. Not only that, but I drive it to Ikea. This makes me not only straight, but also a real man. Real men drive Scandinavian cars to buy Scandinavian furniture--because then it's official. I walk right into that store, buy a Pello, look at the Klakbo
And typically, I'm the only guy with a Scandinavian car parked in the Ikea parking lot. Everyone else has their big, stupid-ass American SUVs. Assholes.
Tomorrow, I return to LA. This is a good thing. My lungs were getting used to the unadulterated air. I need to get right back into the exhaust and haze that the San Gabriel Valley offers.
My boy's film premieres at the Seattle International Film Festival tonight in 20 minutes. People think Marcel is Polish, and this actually seems to help him out. Whatever. Just because the actors seem to be speaking Polish, it's really gibberish. The film is Holiday. Don't be a dick; check it out. And if you have the chance to see it, do so.
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3 comments:
When you say "boy" do you mean your "son"? Are you like, crazy old?!?
No. "Boy" as in a good friend of mine. It's the way us rappers talk.
Damn Dawg!! I didn't get yo shiggywizzit homies cussin' My bad man, my bad.
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