Friday, June 18, 2010

Boners of Yesteryear

Bruce Springsteen. On Fridays (like today) when it's perfect weather outside and I am inside thinking about how I would like a FoxyPop but I'm too lazy to go down to the store and plus they probs only sell loosies of them in ghetto neighborhoods anyways, I like to play some Springsteen and think of him as my only boss.

Twenty years ago, he looked exactly like 98% of the dudes I've ever took a trip down Thunder Road with, but now he looks like somebody's creepy uncle who tells awkward jokes and invites you and your friends to smoke pot at their weird beach house in hopes of catching a nip-slip.
. . .
Anyone picking up what I'm throwing down here? Well what I'm saying is, tramps like us, baby we were born to run.

1 comment:

  1. fuck i love this blog. been telling my friends in tx 'bout it too cause its right up their alley. dude lets hit the beach sometime this summuh. ill holler