Newly fresh out-the-bag mixtapes to infest into your ear drums like the winds of the Peruvian desert in mid-August after you've just quit your job and the only thing in life you have left to care about is a crumbled bite-size ammount of a biscuit you couldn't eat from the Grande Ball Extrordinaire the other night. Your pits smell like death and piss because a cat sprayed on you and then you rolled over and killed a gopher when you slept in that park the other night after binge drinking at your daughters 11th birthday. You sick bastard.
