There was one point last Saturday evening, in which Peabs was waiting for Dr. Bill Cosby to return to Uncle Grambo's birthday fiesta (with some microdots and blow, duhvs), that I went to the bathroom to cook up a scorching hit of smack. Schmobvs.
Now, I have seen God many times in my life; the first time I did acid in 1972, when I scaled Mount Rushmore tripping on mescaline during the Great Depression, looking in the mirror everyday, etc. Two nights ago was different. Maybe it was the horse. Maybe it was the sheer brilliance that was occurring at the club that evening. Maybe it's because Peabs is so fucking fascinating, and I have such a mammoth-sized penis. Shmears.
In my past experiences, God had never spoken to me. He would just kind of look at Peabs in awe, wink a few times, and attempt to kiss me. And while it appeared as though this time was to be no different than the past, suddenly God looked to yours effing truly and said:
"Honestly, Peabs. What's Indira Gandhi like in the sack?"
Amazing, G. She could suck the quaalude out of a unicorn's ooh-jah. Obvs.
Anywizz, my encounter with God while smacked out in the bathroom of a Detroit nightclub pretty much summed up the Obvs in '04™ Campaign weekend jaunt to my home state. And while Coz didn't appear until about 4am with merely three eightballs and one sheet, Peabs still managed to have an effing tigs time. You know why? Because drugs aren't everything, my friends.
Don't get me wrong; they play a major part in Peabs' existence. But in no way do they outweigh ass-fucking and salad-tossing. Actually, now that I think about it, they're pretty much even. Bovs on your fucking tees.
More later. Coz and yours effing truly need to have a heart-to-heart talk about how badly I was skimmed on the blow this weekend. And by "heart-to-heart talk" I mean I'll probably say "obvs" a bunch of times, and Coz will say "flazzum flozzle bizzle bazzle" and everything will be effing she mars all over your Joe Dumars. Fucking vaccuum, that Cosby! Gobble, gobble.
It's so obvs how badly you all want to fuck me.
moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination,when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your