I woke up in a new pacer.I woke up in a new

I woke up in a new pacer.I woke up in a new pacer.It has stylish upholstery but is not so racy.I cruise down town & purchased a bucket of KFC, with bacon dip sauce its really tasty

like gravy, just maybe, this rap would amaze me. I took the pacer to the streets with my KFC receipt. Pacers obsolete? Not with Jay Z rocking beats I tweet as I cruise to the meet.

When I arrived my KFC in hand. The world took note. I was the finger lickinest chicken kickinest rapper on the beat. The pacers were here to stay. Of course free chicken helped.

Soon everybody was talking about my program of free chicken in every pothead. I watched it all unfold from my perch on my hot wheel by the curb, my head resting on the hydrant.

That went on for a few days. I was invited on Oprah. I said, "No thanks but I can give you a chicken for any potheads you know." Oprah's producer didn't appreciate me ribbing her.

I was shunned as being the only carnivore in Hollywood. No one would give me any meaty parts. As I sat sobbing in an empty McDonald's on Vine, the Ghost of Thanksgiving Past came

by to console me. "At least nobody ever mocked you for chewing the scenery." That nearly made me smile. The Ghost of Thanksgiving past invited me to a carport party at 437 Ventura

Place. The address tickled a memory but not enough to shake loose. I went to the carport party at 437 Ventura Place with the Ghost of Thanksgiving Past and had a rad romp with Pink

belch followed by series of powerful noxious farts that chloroformed the driver out cold and sent the limousine careening into a telephone pole. The result? Six shattered Crystals.