Look, my dad owns the fucking internet. you think i'm joking, i've got bankrolls the size of decibels from tank rolls. duck and roll. i've got friends, like the son of the guy who owns half the moon. yea think my friend wasn't geeked at NASA putting property on their land, he just went to thailand and bought himself a shoe store and hasn't called me without a mint julep in the other hand. american bandstand. another dad patented icecubes. another trailblazed the stationary bike. theres a group of us. guys with the amount of wealth that will never be seen. mainstream the ice cream. its religious, its fucking intangible, the currency we use are emotions. we dont even care about money, you lose on a pair of sixes, you can't fear or be optimistic until you win it back. when we play russian roullete its with ex-russian missiles. diamond studded crystals. we don't care. i dont care. i dont have any links for my first post? son, i own the internet. division by nepotism. you-clear-fission. i will talk about whatever i want. link to wherever. everytime you click something anything, my dad makes money. i make monies. chinchilla undies. fuck this art of victimization thats rankled our society. upscale poverty. postmodern propriety. what the fucks after post modern? son of post mod prometheus. moderate atheist.