Day three of the Stokefest has yielded some unsuspected rewards:
Call me pre-pubescent because the fuzz just arrived. Seriously, three cops just showed up, asking if I played guitar. Them shits.
Neighbors: After three full days of stoke and the same, you'd think they'd handle it rationaly; but, shit no, they're retards as the rest.
I'm free to type it down, but the neighbors are obviously dumb shits, considering I've been rockin' harder since Thursday. Volume louder, guns more blazin'. WTF? It's Saturday you hyper-conservative cock-sacks. Deal with it.
Anyways, I got all I needed filmed.
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