Being a Rainforest conservationist rules! Maybe I should travel to South America or Africa in an attempt to change local land development policies regarding human encroachment in jungle habitats and impart wisdom to indigenous farmers regarding the negative aspects of slash-and-burn land clearing. Or maybe my passion for Rainforest conservation would be better served by fucking my girlfriend from behind live on stage during a concert for a band called The Cumshots.
I do not care if any of these bitches got a tattoo last week, have a cold, were pierced recently, use intravenous drugs, are HIV infected or contracted hepatitis from some skeezy frat boy that looked like Dave Matthews. They better LIE! If I screw this sorority girl blood drive up my dad may cut me off and the convertible Cabrio will go back to the dealership and the weekly stipend that keeps this house full of ecstasy tablets and Midori will stop. We cannot have that. Now where is Mary Sue at? Gamma Phi Beta is going have an old-fashioned bloodletting.
All this commerce has worn me out. I could go for a slice of pizza at Sbarro, sit down and kick my feet up on one of those imitation cast-iron chairs. (Mall patron enters the food court, purchases food and takes a seat). Now that is odd. Why are all these people yelling, “Watch out for that falling Asian kid, you dumb bitch!”? Oh. That is why.