Full tank, man

I've got money and a full tank of gas
So what the fuck
Let's drive somewhere and
see some things
No matter what things
As long as we see some things
And by we of course 
I mean
Just me.
Running up the mountain
Taking a fucking bath in a nice country inn
Reading depressing poetry in a dead bar
Where the kitchen is closed
Even though I am fucking hungry as
Shit biscuits.
Burger King beckons just beyond the car drive
But I'm a bit sauced and don't wanna drive
But I hafta for my stomach.
My beer never finishes itself asshole.
I pay for the privilege of not having to drink it.
That's what I tell myself but I
Drink it anyway.
 Because that's what men, or Americans, or people that mean business
There is no try, motherfucker,
I will fight you.
People who write boring poetry
Should be doomed to a life of

Old Rasputin on tap is kind of bitchin
But not like riding a brontosaurus bitchin
Just your normal everyday riding the spaceship at Winco for 50 cents bitchin.
I could definitely smoke a big fat joint right now
And float back to my inn
On a cloud of
But I'd probably ptfo so ptl for my
Mary Jane bereftitudinality.
Sheeeeee it.

10:19p time for bed!
All bars in Winters CA are now
And who knows what new demands
Tomorrow will
And future.