There's some shit going on outside

Holy fuck! I don't know what to tell you all. When I came to there was this dude in a dress trying to crack open my fuckin head with a hammer. Next thing, I got him by his fuckin poncy beads and I'm trying to beat the fuckin truth out of him.

'Leave me alone, leave me alone' - he's startin' to whimper now - 'I'm just doin' what you aksed.'

So I let him off, and he tells me about the hammer you got to batter tha fuck out of the Pope with, to tell he's dead. Hit him three times, and if he doesn't scream or beat tha fuck out of you, you're in tha clear. And you save on callin tha fuckin doctor, who's not cheap round tha fuckin Vat.

I was so stoned I couldn't even talk for, like a year or some shit. They tried to wheel me out during mass last week (it was some sort of important shit, apparently) and I could barely say shit. I think I coughed or somethin, and an ould one in the front row thought it was her dead husband speaking thru God speakin through me. And I thought I was on some powerful shit, baby.

So, then they try to stick a feed tube up my ass, and no dice. They decide I'm dead. They dig out the hammer to see if it's true. Guy in the dress tells me he was on hit number two. One more, and no reaction, I would a been officially dead. Same thing happened wit Jesus.

I tells tha guy in the dress to go fuck himself, takes the hammer, and goes to see my flock.

Across the square, out my window, thousands of peeps blubbing over some Polish fnubsnaggler. It's anough ta make you wanna go skate for a few days - chill out while they find a legit successor to that phoney throne. I'll be in the South Central Roma skatepark if anyone wants me - don't try callin until ya see the white smoke ya plocksniffers!