How's that go? Ass in the sand, beer in my

How's that go? Ass in the sand, beer in my hand? Shoot, all's I'm sayin' is all I got is
is some dumb ass skank girlfriend who never gives me any peace all she ever wants from me is
to teach her to ride a bike. She's fine with training wheels, but take 'em off and she's like a freshman at last call,
she'll take off faster than lightning. Honestly, it's what she prefers. Who likes to be held down? She wants freedom to
be with whoever she wants. Which is why locking her in my basement seemed like the only option. Hopefully mother won't
take out the stash of poisonous weed hidden inside her left breast and bake cookies in the basement oven. My mom would
play Grateful Dead songs until the crack of dawn and then go to work at "The Manhole." Ever since my father left she
drank wine and ate popcorn for dinner and wore his nasty, old t-shirts every day. It was a pathetic existence, but
it suited him. He never complained - even if the neighbours did about the smell - but he loved his lonely life as much as a miscreant could love
his teddy bear. He didn't want anyone to bother him anymore, so he slipped into the sewers never to bother anyone again.

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