What the fuck?
Ya guys have some problems here or what, for fuck sake, this is all I need right now-problems witht he god damn server. Why do they call it a fuckin 'server' anyway, this ain't fuckin tennis-not to my knowledge anyway.
Anyway, I'm back from talking to the potatoe clan up in Ireland. What a big crock of pickle shit that was. All this political bullshit, and I had to apologize what only came natural to me.
I told em before this whackin' ever happened, that if the cocksucker was late one more time, he was gonna get a beatin', and I think maybe they may have directed him to be late on purpose, to test their boundries. What the fuck? So, to make 'ammends', we're delivering egg to them once a month, and they'll continue to service us with their potatoes-anything to keep from going to war I suppose.
And I get back, and my daughter missing. Thsi entails a longer story however, and though her whereabouts are still unknown at this point, I have my suspicions.
That fuckin' squirrelly fuck that she's with, well, he started some shit with Stenard, that peice of shit fuck that keeps tip toeing in my territory. Well, while I was gone, I guess he couldn't wait to get his shit over here again, and make some claims for new profits. That peice of donkey dick sells crank, heroine, coke, whatever to my folks here on the southside, and gets em hooked. That's my fuckin' money they're handin' over to himfor that fuckin shit-and to hell with that.
Anyway, that squirrel fuck, whether it was his or my daughters idea, decided to start selling for this Stenard fuck as an 'undercover' or 'low-key' player, thinkin' I'd look past it, well, that ain't goin' happen. I heard all this shit when I got back-and I just about shit my britches. The only thing that kept me from beating the squirrelly fuck, was the fact that he's gone-and with my daughter I might add. Either Stenard's protectin' them now, or he whacked them, either case, me and the boys are goin' to do some stompin' tonight.
Wish me luck fuckos, I'll keep you posted.
Edvard