YOU SAY NO TO DRUGS, JUICY J CAINT
Elevator musik.
Chuck Inglish enters his chillwave period
Rich Boy, not dead.
this is the craziest chops ever
GOT A CONDO ON MY WRIST
Dopesmoker by Sleep. The heaviest.
four tet money folder remix
THE LAST MOMENTS OF THE LIFE OF STEVE HARWELL, LEAD SINGER OF SMASH MOUTH
Steve Harwell gazed out his window down the crisp and verdant San Diego coastline while he downloaded a .jpeg image of an almost-nude Carmen Electra lying prostrate on a bed on his Gateway laptop.
Steve Harwell coughed with longing and regret. The tattered, coffee-stained sheet of lined notebook paper on which he had first written the lyrics to “All Star” fluttered playfully in the breeze, stuck to the corkboard in the corer of his vision. Steve Harwell felt a sudden burst of helpless vulnerability, as if he were onstage completely naked, but also felt a small wave of nostalgia, the feeling he had when there had been so much to do and see, the days when he would always take the back streets.
Steve Harwell suddenly had an urge to throw up. He closed his laptop.
Steve Harwell locked himself into his bathroom and stood with his hands on the sink looking into the mirror. He stared into his own piercing green eyes, saw stress lines and crows’ feet all around the edges of his goateed statuesque face. None of his hairs were grey. He opened his mouth over the sink but didn’t throw up. Steve Harwell’s brain was smart, but his head felt dumb.
Steve Harwell removed a large bottle of prescription sleeping pills from the medicine cabinet. The metallic handle of his toilet glittered in the fluorescent light, but it wasn’t made of gold. Steve Harwell thought about this and chuckled to himself softly and sadly.
“You’ll never know if you don’t go,” Steve Harwell mumbled to himself drowsily. “You’ll never shine if you don’t glow.” He slowly took the lid off of the sleeping pill bottle. He raised the bottle to his lips and shook the pills down his throat. Steve Harwell got his game on. Steve Harwell was an All Star.
