Once, I had a pal dare me to find how deep my house went. And I don’t even own a house. So I started digging. In the basement. It’s in the apartment I rent, and we live on the second floor, but my neighbors were gone at the time, which got me tunneling. All week I went at it because who the FUCK is “employed” these days. And I sold TONS of “soil” on eBay. Just shipping and digging. Night and day. Using my phone to post up on all this dirt. Then I make my way to an illegal trade line somewhere maybe in LA called 100% Silk. There, this fellah HUBERT CLARKE JR tries to start selling me a new line of diet called “BERRY.” Using this whole “It’s all about the moves” sales pitch, I’m walking out, back into this tunnel I dug, and I can’t stop dancing. The friend who dared me is there, laughing at how I can’t help from dancing, like it’s some insatiable itch I can only subdue by scratching. Now the friend is dancing. Like a maniac. Nobody knows where they are right now, but “BERRY” at HUBERT CLARKE JR place is paradise:
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