O Walter, if you pimp me I'll stay. So that I can describe yet another illiterate fuck in my life, and his boring life of drugs, whores, and etc. to the world, but it's your bannana Walter I missed the most. Right after I had sex with a flash light, and who knows how many other fence posts and car bumpers. I thought about you and your bananna Walter, so I wrote something about some pretty smells, and some poetic textures, and a little death and some snake crap, and a bunch of other neither here nor there shit, making sure to put parts of it in a foreign language to pass my self off as being educated and cultured and then by avoiding putting anything realistically poignant in it? I ate your bannanna and choked to death. O Walter when you Waltz entire burned down villages of indigenous indians rise from the dead, and yawn. Please ex-fix-i-ate me again with your bananna, and let's shove Easter eggs up our asses until immigration folds up our underwear and says adios. Because, unlike me, they aren't interested in your bananna, or Easter, Walter. Oh Walter, Walter, Oh Walter, Oh.