Breakout of Senseless Ass Kissing Trenton New Jersey

So you know, it's Trenton, and there ain't much to do here, 'cept hang with my posse at my crib and play the XBox. It's either that, or go to stupid civic meetings, and well, this place is so fucked that there ain't enough time in the week to hit all the meetings, and really, who wants to listen to a bunch of self-important dickheads in costumes or suits tell us how shit is awesome in Trenton, when it so obviously AIN'T? And there ain't many bitches and ho's that go to these meetings, so I invited the posse over and flipped on the XBox last night. And last night, my homie brought over a hallucinogenic toad, and we all took a lick of that ugly warty thing, cuz we're trying to cut back on the pot and the beer (which makes you fat), and at first I thought that crazy toad was a joke. I did really well on my round of "Assassin's Creed" (my latest XBox fav), better than ever, in fact, until I just fuckin' blacked out.

While I was out, I had a vision, and in that vision, my name was Paulie Arselick Pinetella, and I was attached to strings, like a marionette. But I had a cell phone in my pocket, and it rang (the ring tone was Oran "Juice" Jones' "I Saw You and Him, Walking in the Rain." That's some fucked up shit). I answered the phone and it was my puppetmaster, Dougie Palmer. And if things weren't wack enough, Dougie told me I left my collar at his place and that the invisible fence he set up around my brain (which he owned) was not functioning. He was concerned that I would let him down. I told him this was not the case. All he had to do was attach a string to my mouth and I would say whatever he wanted.

I was told to continue being an ignoramus and to make sure I blamed specific people for Trenton's mistakes, like Reverend Coston, and the bloggers — particularly that one who videos the council meetings, and of course, the people of Trenton who do nothing but hate, and hate, and hate. It seemed wrong to me to blame a man of the cloth, and a brother-in-blog who just wants to keep people informed, and the people themselves, who are all just like me and just want to play video games in peace. But I realize now that this was my own conscience asserting itself: it was like in those fucked-up dreams -- you know, the ones where you scream, but no sound comes out? -- I (as Paulie Pinetella) simply could not think for myself, and despite the silent, ineffective scream in my/Paulie's head, the puppetmaster Doug nodded my head for me, through the phone. Fuck, that's fucked.

Ultimately, I — as Paulie P — had no problem blaming everyone else for the latest fuck-up in Trenton. Blame just flowed out of my mouth, like the Delaware flows alongside Rt. 29. All of Paulie's years of experience of blame and hot air, I guess, made that so easy.

After I was done layin' the blame, I heard the Oran "Juice" Jones tune again, and knew it was the Mayor. He asked me to do one more thing. He said, "Hey can you take a look down below and make sure you have no balls?" And again came the conflict of my own spirit fighting in this vision, but I knew in this hallucination the sad truth: if I looked down, there would be no testicles. I was so upset and again, began screaming in sheer terror: I HAD NO FUCKING BALLS! NO BALLS! But no sound came out, and Doug forced me to look down, where it was confirmed, I had no balls. I screamed some more, silently, though I felt on my face (which I was sharing with Pinetella in my bad, bad trip), a smile, and I could see Doug's ass coming at my face. Before I could even scream -- silently or otherwise -- or turn away, Paulie's reflexes kicked in, and I planted a bit ole kiss on the Mayor's ass, deep in the crack.

I came to a short time later, and immediately felt between my legs: Balls. Hallelujah. And no sign of Oran "Juice" Jones on my cell phone. No strings. And maybe better yet, no munchies. Fuckin' Toad Licking will give you one hell of a fucked-up trip, but it kills your appetite, too, and if you're watching your weight, that's not a bad thing. But fuck that shit, Bros, I laying off the toad juice for awhile.

All in all it was quite a frightening experience. I hope I do not have any more visions about being Arselick Paulie. Ever.

G Spot on the Downhigh out!