YOU DON'T KNOW ME.....YOU DON'T KNOW...ME

Listen, bro, do you really have to take the elevator to the second floor? Is this necessary? You don’t look very crippled to me. Matter of fact, if you took off that doofy-ass LL Bean backback, I’m pretty sure you could beat me in a race, or any other physical activity. That is unless I cheat. Cause I do cheat. Like that time in elementary school I rigged the “anonymous” drawing contest by telling all the nerd-faced girls which drawing was mine so they would vote me the winner….“anonymously.” I can’t draw for shit, but that bullshit frog I drew straight debowed the competition. I wonder where those nerd-faced girls are now? Actually, I know exactly where they are; they are most definitely editors at some fashion/gossip magazine NOT inviting me to their parties. Whatever NERD, remember when you were a sick NERD who got duped into voting for a retarded beast that looked absolutely nothing like a frog. Fuck your party. What I’m really trying to tell you is this, homeboy has no business taking the elevator from ONE to TWO. Next time I’m gonna tell my man real nicely that he needs to get off, and when, like a JERK, he says “why??!?,” I’m gonna straight bug out on some Bronx Tale shit and be like, “NOW YOU CAN’T LEAVE,” and just start swinging my man into the walls of the elevator with his huge ass LL Bean bag…all while saying over and over again “You don’t know me, you don’t know me.” Then I’m gonna take the elevator to the second floor and suplex him out that joint. That’s right…SUPLEX.