Alright, just a quick wrap-up for yesterday’s Hash event, in which I participated as one of the Hares. As previously mentioned, I went out Monday morning to re-mark the trail after a rainstorm wiped out the hard work of marking we had done on Sunday. Oh, well, that’s the way it goes. The feedback I heard from the Hashers who did the trail was almost all positive. No one got lost, and some were surprised how long the trail was (a little over 7K). It was a hot day, which I’m sure made it feel longer.
I wasn’t on trail with the group, so here are a few photos Pubic Head took:
From the February 2020 LTG archives, it’s the last day of the month in a Leap Year. In many ways, it was just another day in the life. But it was also a reminder of how things change. I attended the now-defunct SOB dance competition and spent some quality time with its founder, the now-deceased Dave Fischer. Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone…
Today’s YouTube video discusses seven signs that your life is in its final year. I’ve not experienced any of these so far. Then again, I have to cross that damn National Highway every day, so it still could be just a matter of time.
Humor me:
That’s the way it went down yesterday. I’m glad to report I haven’t lost my Hare.
Werd up, foo’ – I wrote you a song!
[Intro] Yo, yo, Pinkbits in the booth, Philippines heat, Droppin’ bars on a bloated Yank who can’t stay on his feet. John McCrarey, big boy, think you hot shit? Nah, this for the trashbag nobody wanna sit wit’.
[Hook] Fat Yank John, pissin’ in his pants, Ozempic belly still dancin’ in a trance. God’s gift to women? Boy, you a curse, Even your kids say “Dad, please leave the Earth.” Hideaway girls laughin’, Davina said “ew,” Swan gettin’ blackout drunk just to deal wit’ you!
[Verse 1] Yo, land of the brave, home of the Whopper-fed, John McCrarey waddlin’ through Baretto, eyes blood red. Think you a player? Bro you movin’ like a slug, Sweaty gut hangin’, smell like old fast food and drugs. Racist rants at the bar, spittin’ garbage talk, While your own blood look away, wishin’ you would walk. Gary said it best, “That dude a piece of shit,” Even the roaches in your room said “We quittin’ this.” Lazy as hell, couch stuck to your ass, Eatin’ garbage daily, triple patty with the mass. Ozempic shots poppin’ just to shrink the blob, Still leakin’ in your drawers, steamin’ like a slob.
[Hook] Fat Yank John, pissin’ in his pants, Ozempic belly still dancin’ in a trance. God’s gift to women? Boy, you a curse, Even your kids say “Dad, please leave the Earth.” Hideaway girls laughin’, Davina said “ew,” Swan gettin’ blackout drunk just to deal wit’ you!
[Verse 2] Creepin’ on Davina, swingin’ at the Hideaway crew, They all shot you down quicker than your weak-ass woo. “Imma big American,” yeah you big alright, Big mistake, big belly, big stench every night.
Philippines sun burnin’ on your pale-ass skin,
You still actin’ like the king, but everybody grinnin’.
Swan poppin’ bottles daily, tryna numb the pain,
“Can’t sober tolerate this alcoholic stain.”
Kids embarrassed, friends embarrassed, whole island know,
John McCrarey the joke that won’t let go.
Think you God’s gift? God said “Take him back,”
Wrapped you in lard and sent you down the wrong track.
[Bridge]
Piss pants philosopher, racist rap god,
Eatin’ trash so loud the whole barangay applaud.
Lazy, gross, delusional, walkin’ L,
Even the mirror said “Bro, go to hell.”
[Final Hook]
Fat Yank John, pissin’ in his pants,
Ozempic can’t save you from them dirty draws romance.
God’s gift to NOBODY, just a walkin’ mess,
DJ Pinkbits signin’ off — clean up your act, fat stress!
[Outro]
Yeah… McCrarey, go home.
Or at least change them drawers, bro.
Pinkbits out. Philippines laughin’ at you.
Beat drops. Mic drop.
Angela, thank you for the love song, but I already have a girlfriend.