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at least i'm not that fucker named matt lipstein. he's like sitting here talking to himself and i'm around. he's like "blablablablablabla, lalala. luby luby lye." jesus christ on the cross. he just said something and i don't know what it was. there are an increasing amount of flagrantly retarded people on this campus. holy crapnoah. there are a whole bejesusload of retarded freshman. by the time i'm out of this school there'll be nary an interesting decent person left. pretty soon it'll be like everyone's carrying around a cellphone talking to someone about the severely terrible and traumatic time they had at the kegger because their crush only talked to them for five minutes and what does it all mean and they all have away messages that are like "breakfast, class, meeting, gym, class, lunch, meeting, crying about how much money my parents have and how i'll never get into harvard medical school and why i am destined to be a lemming, a cog in the wheel of mediocrity" and they'll all wear abercrombie and fitch shirts and drive either volkswagen passats or ford explorers with clear-plastic taillight covers and fake exhaust tips 'cause they're so badass and individualistic and stickin' it to the man and they'll listen to john mayer on their shitty aiwa stereo systems and they'll go to all the awesome parties in smith and rand and grope and grope and maybe have sex with some retard of the opposite sex or maybe the same sex because apparently if you're a hippie liberal around here you're gay and anything that doesn't line up with the liberal viewpoint is wrong and definitely not worth thinking about. who knows. lots of retards. lotsa people here tonight. jesus god.
and now for a very special seriously contribution from stupid fat noah. cross your fingers:
and then there's this kid who I'll call "dip" to disguise the fact that his realname is Gabe. dip is in noah's intro philosophy class, where he learns how tophilander and make tasso hams out of spare calculator parts and a littlevinagrette. Anyway, dip says nothing for the whole class, as if he's braindead,which he is. but right when it's time to leave he asks about the meaning oflife or something pretendous like that and extends the class for too manyminutes. I WANT MY FUCKING LUNCH! I want to cryogeriatrically freeze thatstoat, not so I can preserve him but so I can keep him quiet during noah'sclass. Philosophy sucks. I'd prove that using Plato's methods but he's dead andI don't care. Lipstein is what Stork would call YA MO-RON. that's equalemphasis on each syllable, spoken in a southern drawl like levon helmet. Oh,you don't know the shape richard manuel is in. actually, I do. he's dead, waydead. so very, very dead. so is christopher reeve, and so is chivalry. Noahhates bernadette peters, or maybe just her name, he can't tell. so very, verymuch, either way. Speaking of jon bush, jon bush rules. it's not like america -jon bush rules a true totalitarian monarchy, like far outer mongolia or southcarolina. the last time noah called jon's cell phone from outside vagillage 1,jon said something about being in a garbage can and then hung up. I assume hehung up his phone and not his pants. oh man oh man oh man, boston here we come.just like in the movies. dip is YA MO-RON.
heaven help us i think i'm pregnant
noah thingks he's the chillest. well i say he's the SHWILLEST. i just don't understand how anyone with half a head on their shoulders can vote for bush. and another thing. when you're at a fuckingk piano store, shouldn't one be able to play the |>1@n0$? you'd think so. i hate budes ludes. he suks. he saks 5th avenue. so brunswick "pot pie" duBrau paid a very special and retarded visit to new jersey this past week, we drank to his glory. and noah did a dumpy to his glory. perhaps this site will have some excerpts from it in the near future. haBOOB was like "DINO'S cough cough cough cough DINO'S cough cough cough DINO'S" oh haaaaaaaboob. haBORB. haBEEEAAAAARRRRB. that's how coach Z would say it. so molly's all pissed. she's pissed and vinegar because she's all thinking that everyone but me likes her 872-page long weekly emails. it's just not true. i want to say "i'm just the only one with the balls to say so." or "i'm the only one you talk to, no one else has the chance to say anything about it." now would be a good time for me to use haboob's signature "no." she's like "fuck you, everyone likes my emails but you." i'd be like "nuh." that's kind of how haboob's "no" sounds. it's very useful. seriously i just don't care about every gas station and lamppost that you see in italy. it would also be a good time to use the classic "aahhhoouunh care" line. it's like "i don't care" but slurred 2 gether. haBOOB go eee. noah's old man is a clown. he's a boclownian. send in the clowns. send jews lawyers and more jews. noah's dad isn't a lawyer but he's as jewish as they come. he looks like noah but not as scary as noah. noah would make freight trains go in reverse. NOAH MILLACH the day noah reforms his sinful ways it will be a miraculous day
jon bush is like "do you like your tasso ham," then he's like "do you like being your tassmmhmham" and noah sings the blues. i think more prank IMs are in order. for the 6 people that visit this website. i think it's for the good of america personally. jimmy do the noise and the chop and tremble and the feel and the geiger counter and the snake and the face. JIMMY P. there are now two jimmy p's. jimmy p 1.0, who of course does the noise and the chop and tremble and the feel and the geiger counter and the snake and the face. then there's jim paradiaksdjrtlfdisjadsiulejideas. he is the weird. he's like 3 feet tall and made of fluff. he writes about pianos and tianos and flugels. he teaches us not to drink and drive, and then he gets jiggy with it. noah is the baddest goose in the pond. school is retarded. i can't believe noah thought his toyota highlander was faster than a BMW 330Ci. jesus noah. i think noah needs to enter the reddest radish contest. anohnoah. noah do the noise. start the motre. that's an HP motor. get awayyyyyyy. that's it. i'm at the end of my rope. i'm at the end of my chain. my timing chain is busted. ya dip and bessie have popped my last fuse. i could go on for hours about this, but first i have to go do a dumpy. as i was saying. item the first. i hate the sound of people kissing. i hate it more than i hate louie anderson coming to my house to drink all my whiskey and tarry with my sister. i almost hate it more than i hate C2. i hate it more than bill matthews loves shitty music. it chafes my soul and performs anal rapeage on my voodoo zen ch'i. so naturally two of the most clinically retarded people on the face of the planet had to start dancing the forbidden tango. ya dip and bessie. don't even get me started. they're all up ons eachother like flies on shit. and let me tell you it is shitty. i hate the sound of people kissing, but the only thing i hate more than that is the sound of FUCKING MORONS KISSING. retarded people kissing. it burns me. it's like acid reflux for my well-being. it does to me what going "eee" does to haboob's vocal cords (or at least what he claims it does). it's like a punch in the face of the few things left in the world that are good and wholesome and made in america. it undermines the values of apple pie and baseball and mr. rogers and Dick Clark's New Years Rockin' Eve. retarded people kissing. oh my god. to say it keeps me up at night with fear and rage is an understatement. i want to throw bricks at people's heads when i hear this. when i say "retarded" of course i mean retarded like Ya Dip and bessie are retarded. like morons. like completely mediocre and nowhere and shallow and painful to witness. oh my god. seriously. it causes me to rant and rave and get all jazzed up. here's an anectode of the trench warfare that i like to call "going to sleep" nowadays: so one night Y.D. and Bessie are headed for the sack. i do my level best to 1) piss them off as much as i can before i fall asleep with various fart noises 2) fall asleep as quickly as possible. so they're going at it. i fall asleep. i wake up early in the morning but don't get out of bed. every five minutes, from my top bunk, i hear this excruciating, death-by-miter-saw whimpering sound from bessie. i have no idea what the fucking problem was. but of course it behooved Y.D. to go into his manlier-than-thou routine which includes talking about things he knows nothing about, which is everything. so anyway. this whimpering continues. i go slowly more and more insane. it does not stop. i am on the verge of punching myself in the eye. finally i have to give them the old standby: "SHUT UP, DANNY DeVITO." That quieted them down for a good while. Then on ANOTHER star-spangled night of fun and bunnies, i was up late working on a presentation. i don the old headphones to drown out the knife-edged sound of their awkward, ugly mouth olympics. it makes me want to light cats on fire even more than usual. so i'm working and working, the marconi is on. i have the headphones on for a good hour and decide that they must be asleep. so i take them off. so far so good. however, not minutes later, i hear the sound of beelzebub. the sucking/licking/masticating sound of armageddon. the kissing. however this is more than kissing. this is like a factorial of kissing. this is kissing to the nth degree. of awkwardness. it sounds like some sort of botched mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, or the sound that food must hear when it is inside your mouth. or the sound that plays over lucifer's stereo system. oh my god. so that happens once. 20 minutes later...some shuffling, and the grand freakish circus carousel comes around again. oh dear god. it's almost like some sort of autonomic response, like a reflex. one minute i hear snoring, then a split second as the forces of evil from galaxies far away suddenly align and BAM they're slobbering and vacuuming extra saliva out of one another's horrid mouths. jesus god almighty. this started around 9 pm, and continued well past 1 am. i went to sleep, repressing my every urge to shoot airplanes out of the sky and throw babies from tall buildings as a result of the ghastly make-out sessions. i wake up briefly around 5 minutes of 7 the next morning...to hear it again. if i had the wherewithal, i'm sure heads would have rolled. i'm sure people's faces would have met steamrollers and lawnmowers. i'm sure i would have put sugar in the fuel tank of every greyhound bus for a 100 mile radius. but it was 7 in the morning. so i let fate take its own course. anyway. as you can see, this is a very serious problem. bigger than the problem of noah or me not getting laid in 7 months. jesus god. JESUS GOD okay perhaps i should clarify something. i didn't intend "the problem of noah or me not getting laid in 7 months" to mean that neither i nor noah have gotten laid in 7 months. i meant "the problem of noah AND the problem of me not getting laid in 7 months." noah has never gotten laid. okay so there you go, stick that in your donut and fillet it. i don't know who john mayer thinks he is. i've gone over this before. however, it requires revisiting. john mayer is the representation of shittiness. you can't quantify this shittiness. that's like trying to quantify how much of a tool noah is. noah = tool where tool is defined as ?. anyway. so john mayer comes along and his sole mission is to make lemming-like college freshman girls go gaga googoo and pretend that his computer-generated lyrics mean so much to their horribly shallow and nowhere lives. OH MY GOD oh god. the following entities (which you can't spell without "tities") need to die: john mayer, train, guster, and jack johnson. and every vapid upper-middle-class polo-shirt college-demographic volkswagen-driving wannabe sapsucker that tries to be like them. oh jesus josephine. maggie haBIB!!!!!!!!!! this will not be a funny update. this is a wistful update. i long for many things. one is coitus. another is for the olden days. another is for radio antennas. i suppose one can't really long for radio antennas. however, i would like to alert the public (all 3 of you) of the beauty of radio antennas. not the retractable things on your boombox. i mean antennas of your shortwave/mediumwave/longwave variety. they're majestic in a certain kind of post-industrial way. normally i hate the "post-" modifier but i'll let it slide this time. but there is something special about seeing a 1000' long multi-wire Beverage or inverted Delta loop set against the sky. the possibilities are endless. i could go on but i don't want to get sappy. where's haaaaaaaaaaboo well here i am. in the old country. noah thought it wasn't possible, but i am now currently as you read this updating the site. this is the site. i'm trying to think of something funnay to say. funney. funnie. did i ever tell you about the time my little sister wrote this report on drugs for school, and she was going on about something to do with drugs (when i say "drugs" i mean illicit drugs of your non-legal variety of outlawed substances) she was like "and the drug companies use catchie (sic) phrases to get kids hooked" or something. it was really quite pathetisad. i told her, i was like "um, nina, drug COMPANIES do not make marijuana and LSD and market it to kids. everybody knows that the terrorists grow marijuana in Osama bin Laden's backyard and sell it directly to black people in Harlem, who then give it to Kiefer Sutherland who then sells it to children." people are so stupid. there are some profound morons in this program. it is so painfully clear why no one likes america. it's not because of Bush's horrifying pseudo-righteous evangelical imperialism, it's not because of the Hummer H2, it's not even because of michael bolton. it is because of american students. here is a complete and thorough list of what americans do when they get to a foreign country: i must say that being drunk is allowable under certain circumstances. if this weren't the case, then by all logic i should hate seanny hurtbeans and The Bush. which i do not. seanny hurtbeans is, without a doubt, the #1 coolest cat i know. but he likes his juice. and The Bush is...well, The Bush. so to that end i offer the list of circumstances under which it is acceptable to be inebriated without automatically being a moron: noah definitely bears a resemblance to the flappy chimney. noah, add the following things to the list: luby luby lye and haleeb's house of middle eastern chicken. you st00p. you st00ge. after that whole rant about being drunk i don't know what else to say. other than that chances are you're a loser, because chances are you're an american who gets drunk. if you're not i sincerely apologize, and if you follow the guidelines above for getting drunk then i retract any animosity towards you. however for the rest of you, you know who you are. heed the warnings! oh MAN that is the worst. seriously, has humanity (or at least american humanity) degraded so much that the standard form of fun is being sloshed with other losers? i desperately want someone to tell me what the reasoning is behind it. take me for example. i'm a nutcase. i'm insane, i'm retarded. i lived with noah miller AND Ya Dip. i think that says something. however, along with that, i'm a pretty fun guy. i think that's generally accepted wisdom. i do not drink at all. there's no problem with drinking booze, the problem is the way american twatbrains do it when they're in europe. OH MY GOD seriously, i pity the europeans who have to deal with us. i pity the poor mediocre loser american souls who do it in the first place. jesus christ. i will have you know that i partake in marijuana every few months when the occasion arises. some may cry foul and say "WHAA, BUT THE REV. 88 FINGARS, WEED IS ILLEGAL AND MAKES YOU DO BAD THINGS AND IS A GATEWAY DRUG AND HELPS THE TERRORISTS WIN AND EATS BABIES." i hate these people. it is a shame marijuana is illegal. people do not cry about that time they got really baked and ate too many Vienna Fingers. people's families do not get ruined, people do not go into rehab because they burn one down at lunchtime every day. people do not get into fistfights and commit seriously squalid unconsensual sodomy after too many bong rips. people do not DIE FROM OVERDOSES OF FUCKING REEFER, MY MAN. jesus god, there is a RELIGION devoted to grass (albeit, it is devoted to grass as well as hating women and the white man, but that's for another day). look at how happy the goddamn rastafarians are. i'm sure there are many lesser-known sects of the ganja-worshipping variety. the only thing weed makes ME do is laugh at the Tom Vogl movie harder, and get really paranoid when seanny hurtbeans chases me around a dark parking lot. okay, so there was that one time i opened the door to heather's Buick Skylark while it was moving, but i had my seatbelt on and i had no intention of jumping out. good god that was a fun night. haboob will attest to that. oh wait, he wasn't stoned and we all showed up at his place and forced him to watch the tom vogl movie. so maybe it was less fun for haboob. but had he partook in Mother Nature that night, i'm sure he would have been singing a different tune. the tune probably would have gone something like, EEEEE EEE EEEEE EEE EEEEEE EE EEEEEEEEE so i says, smoke my fat cock. no not really, i didn't actually says that. i think there's something else that should be illuminated about weed. that is, being a bakeface generally isn't cool. i've seen many a cool guy reduced to a musty pile of semi-animated torpor by too much mary j over the years. man, there were bakefaces in my fourth grade class. let me tell you, if you wants J on the vineyard, you gots it. jesus christ the hammond b-3 is awesome. seriously, brendog karalekastein does not deserve a b-3, i do. won't some charitable rich motherfucker take pity on my situation and just buy me one for chrissakes. that's pronouned "fer krissicks." AND THEN SHOT. oh man. be it known, The Convicition is the greatest song ever done by man. you know what makes it great? the wurlitzer put through the drive channel of a tube amp. i once read somewhere someone saying about an overdriven wurlitzer, "you'll need a cigarette and a box of tissues." this is very true. it's like a cross between a guitar, an electric piano, satan, and one of those orgasms that lasts for like 10 minutes. and believe me, i've had my fair share of those. slam the low A on a wurly with the gain cranked up and that's the jazz right there. that's your daily spunk. the other greatest sound is a B-3 with a registration of 86 8000 000, maybe 86 8000 003, a C3 chorus, and the preamp driving the leslie into the thick juicy steak that happens when the leslie's power amp is dimed, the pedal is floored, and you've got the preamp trimmer tweaked just past the boiling point. jesus god. oh man. oh lawdy. 'cuz she's an iiice queeeeen, an iiiiice queeeeen, chill me to the soul. oh fejesus. so basically i am now cheech marin. last night was hash bar night, i think that says enough right there. suffice it to say about 1 hour was spent de-tobaccoing a cigarette without ruining the paper and then stuffing nug into it, and about 5 minutes burning it down among the three of us. sadly the bitches, hos, and ladies-of-the-evening that were supposed to show up never did. stupid girls. but let me tell you, this stuff was the weed equivalent of Jet-A. i thought i was going to be the first person on record to die of a weed overdose. the funny thing is, i didn't get really baked. just enough to start waxing philosophical about things like peer pressure and the Hall-Scott engine company. but man, that first toke hit me like a Hall-Scott-powered Crown fire truck. maybe an American-LaFrance V-12. maybe noah driving his studebaker highlander toyota whatever it is. then i had some turkish kebap giro meat sandwich from a cylinder of meat, and the night was a success. the end. tune in next week when noah will do a duet of the hip-hop remix of "She Thinks I Still Care" with Jello Biafra featuring the father from Family Ties on pump organ. well folks, you know what this means. time for another cleveland steamer from Neauah Mueller: I am here to talk to you today about music, specifically the dichotomy between so-called “rock and roll” and “mom and pop” music, the latter often abbreviated simply to “pop” music. For many people, the term “pop music” conjures up horrid images of airbrushed blondes who lip-synch into tech-support headsets at the superbowl or 20-something white guys with stupid goatees that epitomize the American stereotype of the homosexual male. However, I am here to tell you today about an era in which pop music, though still distinct from rock music, was a viable art that required skill to create. I give you three examples: 1) Electric Light Orchestra. Oh man. Jeff Lynne/ELO proved that a great producer can make a great record out of the most lyrically overblown songs. Oh! Oh! Telephone liiiii-ee-iiiiine… 2) Early Todd Rundgren, before he got all electronically funky. The Runt proved that a song can be both musically engaging and lyrically interesting. This one’s for haBOOB: One more day…. no word…. 3) Three Dog Night. Sweet mother of mystery, could those boys sing. No, they didn’t write their own material. They did, however, arrange all of it in such cool ways and with such awesome harmonies that they brought previously unknown songwriters into the public eye for the first time with complete ease. And they loved the wurly. Wurly wurly wurly wurly wurly! And there you have it, folks: proof that pop music does not necessarily equate to bad music. I’m gonna go listen to some Elton John. Oh mamacita!
people get ready. i don't know if you're ready. readiness is crucial. for The Bush has contributed. it will be in boldface to further accentuate its gravity and relevance. get ready:
Jonathan Bush
I was reading poetry by candlelight the other day after giving
thousands of dollars to Tsunami relief and giving 3 pints of blood to the
red cross. After returning from church, I decided that I would meditate and
pray further for the hurt people of the world. I then, after reading
poetry, I walked outside and cleaned up the litter in the forests of Maine.
Just Kidding...I got drunk, snorted coke, smoked crack, had unprotected sex
with hookers, and injected Hepitits stained needles of heroin in my arm, and
shot a man because I didn't like his face.
Europe Sux...Top Fifteen Reasons why:
So my opinion of Italy. I was there once. The women wouldn't have sex with
me unless I wore armani and/or rode a scooter. Therefore, not a fan. Cesar
called...He wants his country back. I know Max goes off on Americans getting
drunk in Europe. This may seem hypocritical of me, as a drinker myself, but
I agree...Americans should not get drunk unless they fall under the
categories that Max has written on his site...although I would add a few
more conditions where it is okay to get drunk: if you are in France, talking
to a Frenchman, or have French blood and hate yourself for it, you have the
right to be drunk whenver you want.
Max, Ahoooo, Werewolves of Italy.
I wrote a poem:
MAX
Max is a man,
Milan is a place
Aho, Dit, You know the words
after that i think i need a bromo
1. get off airplane
2. go through customs
3. drink
4. bed
(repeat steps 3 and 4 daily)
it is truly sickening. here's where i get seriously fired up. here in italy, the culture of alcohol is not about getting shitfaced and waking up in a meat-packing facility next to 500 pounds of Delmonico. no. the smart, cultured, urbane italians know full well that alcohol GETS YOU MESSED UP IN AN UNHEALTHY WAY AND WHEN THIS HAPPENS IT ALMOST ALWAYS ENDS IN SOME SORT OF PAIN AND UNHAPPINESS/REGRET AND POSSIBLY ANAL RAPEAGE. so they drink often and in moderation. they do not get juiced the way retarded fucking american morons do. they are pleasantly and joyfully social about the drink. however, the americans show up and think "AHYUK! NO DRINKING AGE! AHYUK!! LET'S HIT THE FUCKIN' BAR DUDE!!!" so off they traipse to the fuckin' bar. they engage in seedy quasi-hemi-romantic relationships with other veritable losers who major in pottery and economics and plan on going to work for some multinational corporation and who will listen to jack johnson and ozomatlatlal-whatever the fuck they're called, and they come home to their apartments afterwards and cry about how Asshole #1 doesn't like them/is an asshole so they decided to hit on Asshole #2 who turned out to be a homosexual so they banged Asshole #3 to spite the other two and by this time it's 4:48 am and the rest of Italy has gone about their business and went to bed and been sophisticated and cool and fun without resorting to imbeciledom and KNEW WHEN TO PUT DOWN THE FUCKING BOTTLE. jesus christ. insufferable morons, every last goddamn american i see. and ANOTHER thing. unless you're a clinical alcoholic (which, however, does often result from this sort of behavior), do NOT expect people to give you a fucking hug and a thumbs-up and have sympathy for your bodaciously retarded decision to drink jaegermeister like it was diesel fuel and you were a fucking Cummins. it's like "oh, boo hoo, i made bad decisions while i was drunk, let's everyone feel sorry for me and cry about it." if by "cry" you mean "whip you in the face with a timing chain," then okay! so the italians look at the americans and laugh and say "they are damaged people, let's outdo them in every aspect of human culture except for hygiene and economy cars." the italians are not perfect. they are, in fact, greasy. the Fiat Punto will go about 30 mph in a tailwind. but for everything else, man, the dagos know what's up. when will america get it together and start realizing that more chemicals in food does not make it better for you. seriously, even the Twix bars are better here. now don't get me wrong, i love america. no other country could produce things like a 935 cubic inch inline-six cylinder gasoline engine or people like randy newman. oh wait, he's from LA, nevermind. people like noah miller. oh wait, he's from new jersey and is jewish, nevermind. so in conclusion, if italy's national language was english, i'd be all up on this bitch. if for no other reason than america has expressions like "all up on this bitch."
1. your woman done left you
2. your man done left you
3. your man/woman done turned out to be a woman/man
4. you done lost your job at the refinery
5. you are Papa Bear
6. you are being recorded on audio tape by me and noah due to your elevated jocularity under the influence
7. jerry orbach died
under no other circumstances is being stellarly drunk "cool" or "hep." well, okay, maybe it is quote-unquote cool and quote-unquote hep in the eyes of your fantastically mediocre friends at the bar/rager/christmas party, but it is not cool nor is it hep in the eyes of all that is intelligent. this is why noah rules. he knows what the fucking score is. noah doesn't need a digital recording anemograph to know which way the wind is blowing. dude somebody just did a fahty in here. it is unpleasant to say the least. jesus christ, have a little respect you goddamn greasy italians. actually it was probably an american. jesus christ. jesus josephine.
Greetings earthlings; I come in peace. Actually, I come in a Toyota, but that’s not really important. Mr. Max Well has commissioned me to write an update for his site, and I have agreed to do so, so here it is. And for a very reasonable fee, might I add.
ESSAY FOR WEBSITE
2/13/05
Prof. Max Butler
When I woke up, I was in a pool of my own vomit. The vomit was
confortable to lie in, but if feel as if the vomit wouldn't cuddle with me
the whole night...enough about me, this essay is about Europe
1. The French
2. Lack of Showers people take
3. Lack of Deodorant
4. Have you ever seen a foreign film?...if you have, you know their lack of
coherence in the arts
5. Jacques Chirac
6. Gerard Depurdu
7. Did I say The French
8. The Parisians
9. Charles De Gaulle International Airport
10. Small countries like Liechtenstein, Andorra, and San Marino that can't
just suck it up and realize that they are worthless and should join up with
a larger country
11. The exchange rate: one US dollar = .000000000000004 Euro cents
12. Stupid Europeans
13. Stupid Americans that visit Europe and make stupid Europeans seem better
than us
14. Max is there now
15. One Word: WWII
I agree Max, Noah does remind me of the grandma on Who's the Boss. Did
you know Noah is growing another Jew Beard?...If you readers of this website
would like to sign a petition asking Noah to do us the favor of shaving it
off, email max and tell him you signed the electric petition saying Noah
should shave his beard off. I think Noah is a "tasso ham", by "tasso ham",
I mean of course that Noah is a silly nilly. In other words, Noah is a
goofy goof. In other words, Noah is a funny bunny. In other words, Noah is
the source of evil in this world. I love noah millah.
I hear Nantucket is Martha's Vineyard's bitch. (editor's note: it is)
88 keys he demands.
He plays them like rining a bell,
Noah is evil, he will go to Hell.
Where they spit in your face,
Spray you with mace,
Italy ain't nearly a disgrace
as a homeless man on a bench.
A homeless man on a bench ain't as bad
As the fucking worthless French.
What is a Gut bass, it's absurd
I love Noah Millah
I love Max Butler
I love candy coated chicken fat