16-02-2014, 13:31
Dedykuję wierszom, które mi zaginęły. 
He was driving himself crazy. Part of the world, prostitute or president - one percent, pink blood, story of history - so you should be really proud of this.
Like a fagot, like a fagot – he was jumping and laughing.
Today or not today. Tomorrow is a bitch – thought Mr. Bancock while he was opening the door to the drugstore in London.
- Good afternoon! – he shouted.
- Well, hello. I hope you are sick.
- Yes, I am. Really ill.
- That’s fantastic. So what do you want?
- Some drugs, you know…
- Amphetamine to stimulate?
- Yes, of course. And one carton of marijuana if I would be too energized.
- Something else?
Mr. Bacock thought for a moment.
- Yes, aspirin.
The drug-assistant was shocked.
- Well… customer… you know… that’s a little bit illegal… we don’t have the system with the funeral.
- I will pay in cash.
- OK, I’ll get you Headcox. But it causes bellyache, so I recommend Stomachex, which causes odontalgia, and you’ll go with that to a dentist.
- No, no, no… give me an aspirin… I can’t stand it.
- Cowboy isn't a boy.
- Sex, drugs and guns wait for me outside. Bitch on the beach and the sand in hairs. Give me this.
- Fuck out, please – said drug-assistant with the gentle voice.
At this time the head of Bancock exploded and his light blood painted the walls of drugstore.
People on the street was loud.
- It's a fucking blood, bitches.
Fuck the philosophy.
Miejmy nadzieję, że baba do lekarza będzie przychodzić, póki żyjemy.
