I watch STRONK and my cousin talking about melting ducks and crushing whoever Apollo Douglas is from my floaty spot just above and to the right of my former client. I try fucking with one of the lamps a bit but Lowell just goes and turns it off…

Oh me? The ghost that’s seated … DOWN? 

Damned to a purgatory of watching a 70-IQ OAF bumble about LIFE and succeed DESPITE himself, hangin’ over his shoulder without a VOICE, like it’s a damn third-person-shooter video game but my controller don’t work?

… And Godson has the GALL to not even remember his GOOD BUDDY Abdullah “Ch’Boi” Choi AKA Shelley “Mean” Greene AKA Frank Darabont II?

After all we’d been through? With all the HOW drama and me shooting his stupid bull MONGO in the face with a shotty (like John Gotti) and Darin Zion stalkin’ us and always peekin’ in our windows after dark while we’re in our manties doing dishes at the sink?

Teh FUK dawg tho sirriusly RITE?

Makes me GRRRRRRRRRRR angry.

But I’m dead (not alive) so it don’t mattah none…

Oh yeah, I’m dead. 

Come as a surprise? 

No? 

Pro’lly not ‘cuz even the cops know and seem to NOT FUCKING CARE.

I WAS DROWNED AND NO ONE GIVES A FRENCHMAN’S FUCK ABOUT IT.

A CRIME WAS COMMITTED!

Where’re my protests!? Where’s my outrage!?

PRIME platforms my killer like it ain’t no thang.

See,

I’m the bones in the bag o’ bones.

I’m the skeleton in the backpack.

And now I’m forced to watch over (and provide DVD commentary, I guess?) STRONK’s continued existence—

The man that was ‘SPOSED to DIE with me in the waters of whatever beach it was he marched me and him into…

But he reneged on our unspoken deal…

He decided NOT to die.

… Or maybe it just never occurred to him in the first place?

Fucker breathed OCEAN WATER.

Ate SHARKS.

Had a fling with a YES THERE ARE MERMAIDS and made one his GF but then they split but continued to maintain a very healthy relationship, like truly supportive, strictly platonic friends. No weirdness, neither.

He TOOK A SHIT on the TITANIC.

AND HE WALKED ONWARD. 

And I… fucking… drowned… instantly.

Turns out smoking fent FOR SCIENCE PURPOSES as a HOMECOOK SCIENTIST doesn’t make your lungs good for, like, lung stuff. Such as holding your breath or respirating the sea ‘n shit.

So I’m dead and have been for several months and I guess I’ll be around going forward in some capacity… a watchful, opinionated third-party… a plot device—an interesting perspective, maybe sometimes—

AND FUCK YOUR RULES AND DISRESPECT. I RAISED THE CHAMPEEN OF A SO-SO QUALITY FED. I AM GREAT.

…was…

I was great…

(It’s lonely here in the Forever Milk…  

:(

…and less erotic than I would’ve thought, too…

Still erotic AF but just less so. Because it’s just little ol’ me and the Living that can’t see or hear me.)  

And now my asshole cousin Lowell Dot Com, the so-called webMASTAH, the Shillin’ Villain, has swooped in and claimed my meal ticket…

Fuggg.

This, like, really, really sucks ass. THEN COME HOME, MR. GREENE.  WE HAVE HOT TUBS AND STANK-ASS TWERKING AND

UNIMAGINABLE PAIN

WE’LL BE WAITING.