domics fence

I don’t really have any iron-clad convictions…and that is my most annoying trait. Now here’s the irony*: NOT having iron-clad convictions IS an iron-clad conviction. See how annoying that is???!!! I can’t even be consistently wishy-washy? I don’t sit on the fence I incessantly fidget on that bitch… I’m the kinda cat that takes a vehement stand against racial injustice one minute and the next I’m outside in 100 degree heat, clutching a refurbished Zune in my sweaty palm, dancing my ass off to the only song on that bitch: Crucial Conflict’s ‘Hay;’ in BLACKFACE, powdered wig too, spinning a sign that reads: Little Nigga Jim Tax Prep. And no, this isn’t some sort of ironic street art thing, there were W2s involved. Two forms of ID.

* Pointing out irony is a nails-on-chalkboard trait of the conviction-less, as well as obsessive analysis that focuses on obtuse deconstruction and simplification at the same fucking time; they may also have a penchant for speaking abstractly when they have been talking about them-gotdamn-selves the whole time! But since they are hyper-self-aware they will make sure to absolve themselves of this folly via a meandering tirade that exposes the machinations of their bullshit, but hides behind the veneer of jest. Always an easy out for these guys. These cats don’t own shit.


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