beet'm N join'M

FaggitUp, I got zactly zero dukes from ma' Suicide Girls photospree. Shit even featured mad pics o' mah joint cold floating at or near the surface of hot tub water. Sucks 2B tha laydees who did not see those photographs, 'cause so many laydees coulda' and shoulda' seen my sweet pecka'.

Nerd it, I got 2 take a jyobbh @ starbukks [but put that shine in reverse italics as though a wind gesture blow'd it back] as a dude who cold writes down a coffee drink. Hands like Shakespeare, all Socrates-shape hands, yet I got to write down a coffee drink, all "triple hot mocha fluenza," so a real estate helmet bitch gets her blonde tips helmet lady flavor thing of hot flavor sugar coffee. I cold wear a green apron during that shit!

BLEEP you know I am mad please leave a message

SG server mus' be BR0k3N

Doggz tha logfiles say I got only 1 vue of mah neww-stylezz joint-o-vision photo set on Suicide Girls, which lead me to B-leave thatt they server be krap'd-on and entirely kaput. Tha set wuz sexksy-insaaaane: I cold stood in the hot tub, pulled mah short-pantzz aside, and aimed my Nokia down in that place to snap mad-erotik piczz. It iz m-possible 2 say how hott the GIFs of mah joint were, usin' language technology.

Crap, I do B-leave I just left a Pizza Pocket cookin' in tha microwave for at least 15 minutes. Got to run, cranky nun.

I B a SuicideGirls model

Check it don't wreck it, allz - Charley S (aka Icky Skillz) b a model at Suicide Girls, aka tha qinky site where tha qinky young laydeez be showin' they qinky booty pahhtz an' tittles wit dey nipple-ringz. Sanford and Son would get much wood, they see so much junk and metal.

Befo' you get all wicked-confused an barf all over yosef' in confusion, please allow me 2 ex-plain that they got a new division where hot young dudez model they warez fo' the female half—carry on assured, fatty, I ain't a chick when the pants serve their ultimate purpose by droppin' 2 thee flo'. So, b lookin' forward-stylezz to a photoset of mad mr. Skillz in tha hot tub, his joint stone cold visible.

Anchovies ain't crappy

Bologgo Doggo's: I up and knew that anchovies would taste mightily of crud-ass, but in tyyme it wuz re-vealed un2 me that these bad little fishes be little mouth citizens. Crapple (Uncle Ray) stone dicked up some little white anchovies on famous small bread wit' guac an that nasty ol' was a damn tasty! Only other tyyme i gotz near the oily fishez wuz when Kumar's dad cold fucxed up a pizza we ordered by gettin' half wit the nasty brown hell lines an' we couldn't munch up our peppyronies 1/2.

Dogg eat gourmet anchovies not from Papa Reno's Famous Delivered Pizza.

Onstad be blowed by Dudez

H.M.S.X.U.E.L.Z. SUMR.CAMP, aka CHRIS ONSTAD, raunch fogeyed tha dope, straight lyyed 2 me about gettin' paid fo' my p[oems]. Word dick had me all junk-firm on publishin' my heartfeldtt wordzz bout CURPETER tha most modern gangsta since EMINEM cold bust a gasket but then he mention he got no more cash, project cold took a nose. TIME magazine or Wired consider Onstad a fucked propysytyn. Well thyn here be mad the last installment of Curpeter til dum shitzz got cash to hear plus d-serve him.

- - - - -
DAMN IT CURPETER

Ohh shit Curpeter
Damn sold he self
2 kahryyogenikz
freeze he body
cryogenics said thee fogeyz
but az he had no moneyz
Curpeter got froze on one condition

He one condition?
That when they wakezz him up
he still get 2 shoot he self
in front 'o he dad
preferably on tha webbcam
- - - - -

curpeter

This week we get mad into Curpeter and his troubles. we do not mess around wit' sick sortzz of helloes.

- - - - -
IN FROM THA DAMN RAYYN HE SAT

Under tha bridge in the park,
Curpeter hidezz
Hidezz in the huge pipe
corrugated, ten feet tall.

The rain fall, the cops be on he scent.
He figgaz' on two minutes.
Still he got he piece.
Eat it? Dump it in thee water?

Who cares. Curpeter busts out.
Mad runs upstream
dog can't smell no scent on water.
Tha creek getz widah'

Now he lookin' free.
Curpeter hoof a few mo'
He land in tha homelezz camp.
He finger he piece,
but no worry.
Wrecked dudes all shazzed
They know that look
They cook tha punk a sanwich.
They close ranks 'round tha punk
Curpeter got he cloak on.

Mad banked on that last poemzz, all!

word it up and around, O-Poop shopped mah last poemzz, tha one about Curpeter the Self-Suiciding Boy and check it! Eminem's agent optioned it for four figures w/a percentage. old agent all said it ain't em's style of writin' but was too good to pass up. O took he 60 cutz which was a cold stang but slipped me my fo-tay and threw down another c-note to dittle off some mo' crazy emotion-based youth hujammmz. It's like i'm cold gettin' paid a hundo to earn mad loot! i be makin' mobius money.

'sallright then, here be much crazy youth of today "thoughtpoems":

-----
ONE DAY IN THA YOUTH LESSON

Curpeter, down to the east side,
2 get his self a piece.
Little J behind tha bodega got his price.
Sold him that and a bag of ice. Curpeter leaves.

Bustin' back home, on the bus. Cop trailed him.
Empties his pockets of ice
But fuzz misses tha gun.
Curpeter can end it now
While the cop is on he walkie-talkie.

Choices to make, lives at stake.
Does he take them both down?
Too late; tha bus hits a wino.
Curpeter dashes the hell away.

-----

If you did not notice, Curpeter be all like a modern day Beowolf, all.

Third tyyme'z a charmsicle

Alright so O-manor pulled tha icy one on my last two but he still gotz mad vision of a book by youth poets he can sell to Wired or Time Magazine (both madly important culture pieces, magazines, all). Hell of folks would get interested in tha youth thoughtzz if I could get my shizzler to concentrate up both ways and sing tha mad emotionzz and bleak future which pre-presents itself to mah guangdong (social set, allz). Another hundo in tha crisper and O-pickle had me praisin'.

Okay so here is try numbah three, sick old poems which rattle in you brainzzpanzz 'bout how tha shit y'all handed down to us be fucked up McDonalds bladder disease and no sense-havin societyzz.

Here we go:

THA POEM WHICH REPRAYZZENTS MAH SHAZZLED EMOTIONS

Curpeter (not his real name) hatezz his dad
Sucker wants to eat he piece
Curpeter wants to eat he piece
On a webcam chat with he daddz.

Damn. That B right? That B wrong.
Why Curpeter hatezz he dad?
Sucker never around. Workin'.
At what point Curpeter cash it in?

Befo' tha quarterly bonus, June 28.
Curpeter said so.

[EDITOR'S NOTE: THIS IS BETTER CHARLEY. I DID NOT CANCEL THIS ONE.]

I be tha voice of new youth, alls!

yo yo yo, O-dogg dropped another hundo on me this week an said Try Again, he still got the idea that youth of today got to write poems to represent they new stylezz and blend of life. he gonna compile a sick spine 'a the stuff and make it all into WIRED an TIME MAGAZINE an shit, major magazines of this day. so problem is, i got no ideas about new poemzz this week and i'm just gonna run ya down this old nasty from camp dayzz:

When you're slidin' into first,
and your butt just wants to burst,
diarrhea, diarrhea!
When you're startin' to round second,
and the toilet starts to beckon,
[EDITOR'S NOTE: POEM CANCELLED]

Hella poems came outta my clam!

Ol' mister shitty dropped a c-note on my desk and said to type up some poems on tha double22! I ain't never even seen the holmes before but tha bill checked out so I owe some dude some rhymezz. Check it, peep it, keep it or bleep it. I ain't care 'bout nobody, nowhere! Not by the hair of my rude derriere.


HUNDRED DOLLAR POEM

Charley has a hundred bucks!
He will buy himself some sucks...to be
you, my friend! And in the end
the love I take is equal to the
love I make with your Mom...just called!
Her jeans are crass but I can find her
[EDITOR'S NOTE: POEM CANCELLED]

I dig on me gewordstra minner.

Doggs I got me a dabble, and it be wine, yo. Pimple Ray left he bottle of some grapes out and I cold copped a top. was some action named Gewords tra-minor or other fancy wine terms. Shit be tha damn kanndy of tippin' them back, all like some MD20/20 but widdout that 'stang.

I am straight up a person who completely can say wine terms now. If you even get near me I will scream in your face that Gewurts tra miner has a delicious flavor. all press me and i will kick you to the curb and mention a great sugar flavor and hints of IHOP syrup selection aromas. A strong initial palate of raspberry drops its pants and is ravaged by a grapefruit with skinny legs and black Converse on. In the end, they marry.

summah'z comin

wit all the tyyme away from tha damn bookz I goin' cook up some action on my weed angle, yo. got Uncle Ray outta the biz pretty wily, Téodor still a tightey, maybe gonna have him sell to Uncle Ray indirectley thru me. That is tha klassic circuit, all, tha Pyramid. that's how the deuces like old Trump and Fred Mcdonalds make they scratch, by cold existin as a virus.

I am gonna make mad bank peddlin' cannabliss to tha Unk, allz.

dang uncle Ray tryin' to muscle my sideline!

shizzito, my damn uncle tryin' to cut in on my weed biz, all! I ain't got that many clients--just Téodor at this early stage, in all franktuality--and it ain't like i need that cheepsty shoppin' around. I got a ruse on, posin' as this crazy azn dude who wants to cap uncle ray 'cause he is a rival drug dealer, the dude already who is on tha block, you know.

I ain't know how long I can keep up tha charade, all. He's buyin' it for now, and tha old doggie gitz bored mad easy, so he'll probably foget he be in tha drug trade by oh let's say Thiddy.

Peace and bombs, toms, I goin' get a mad Ho-Ho bliss on in the pantry!

Fuck tha klown biz!

Damn so you can't even get a klown gig in this butt-stylezz town what unless you got in wit tha klown union! they this main agency that got a corner on all klown gigs, an they keep a damn list of all newspaper births and then computer filezz on when the born babies turn two an' shit, they snatch up all tha leads befo' I can book any payouts. It is a stone fuck to make it in this world if you are a dogg of ambition and a player of gangst, but still a muscle mus' make it on he own, you feel, or he become the tiny soft thing hangin' down behind Stephen Hawking's calf bone, all. Fuck tha klown game, and tha sad bubble noses wakin' up late wit tha shakes and racin' to cold freak out a toddler because they forty and have hella Captain Morgan breath and no savings.

Got to rethink tha jobb prospektzz

Man, dudes down in auto Row all straight up laughed in my fizzle, sayin' map crap bout unpaid apprenticeship and trade school. I ain't need that noize. put that noize in a baggie and pop it by a fool, yo. I know when I'm wastin' my long and short handzz.

on the way home I figga'd it out: I'm goin-2 set up a clown company, you know, but awesome clowns! kid parties always need some kinda clown, but parents know a traditional clown cold eats a peter, so they goin' want a clown that is with tha timezz. Peep this: I'm settin' up a costume and bizness card so's I can be Chortlezz Tha Klown, a Modern Klown with an Uncommon Attitude. Kidz these days are way smarter than they uzed 2b, and I can make hella jokes based on music I know they like and all the xBox they be playin'. When parents get a wind of this one, my days be booked, all.

Thinkin' 'bout mah jobbz prospect

Uncle Ray says if I'm gonna quit school I got to have a good jobbah lined up and get tha GED. GED is this piece of paper that has a math problem ons, yo, and you got to sign your name sayin' you agree. They ain't no ceremony.

So's I might tool it on down to auto row and see if I can line up some action detailin' cars. I ain't speak of no washin' the hubcaps, I mean pinstripin', airbrushin', mad applyin' custom decal workzz. If it turns out I'm tha shizzit, I 'll open my own place, Smuckles Concepts. Yep, already got a name for it. I ain't gon' be no scientist, yo, but ain't no scientist makin' any money that I ever heard of. Pinstripin' brings in tha hundos.

WELCOME TO RETARD MANSION

Damn but uncle Ray has another Ode Fokes party goin' on upstairs, all with his dirtle crew handling tha bev and making a reference to tha B.L.N. years, completely laughing about Eddie Murphy. Murphy is a stone suck, ode fokez, he ain't no kind of live wire, all greenscreening his shizzo off trying to make Doctor Doolittle or something, completely getting cancer around the edges of his body.

yo I heard this dogg Mitch Hedberg on live 105 comedy clips and he played it right, completely on tha screwed game.

Whatzz a boy 2 due

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

I smelled kumar's dad's poop, all!

It was mad wicked nasty poo smell in the air at kumar's house, say sources who read Charley Smuckles' bitchin blog. C.S. wuzz walkin down the hallway at kumar's and kumar's dad had just exited the scene of tha khryyme, namely the half-bath by the coat closet, and shit was in the air. he had just crapped: it was true. no fatalities are reported but C.S. is gonna have a hard time lookin the crappah' in the eye for a while, plus he went home to his own pad where they was no krappz in tha air.

ode fokez suqs teh kw0k

damb but if I didn't run into a cunty old man today! i was bladin' down around the post office with some of tha nuttkasez, puttin mad grindy-grime on the planterbox when some Horace A Thousand points his cane at me, all in his plaid hat, hella gibberin about how he wanted to complain or something. earfuzzzz tried to make a point to me and I grabbed a big handful 'a plants and crap and rubbed it all in his tidy face, gettin some in his pie. old folks ain't know how to react to somethin like that so he took it like a mud-eatin' baby and was all aghasted while we rolled. pitiful, yo. pick your fightz, ode fokez, cause we know where you park, cause your parking spot is painted bright blue and is the size of a game show.