ok,
call me a yuppie.
call me a dirty, stinking, bourgoisie, yuppie.
call me a filthy, smelly, rotten, yuppie, but i’m sitting on my roof with my yuppie computer drinking a nice yuppie cocktail and i love it.
yuppie helicopters flying overhead yuppie bees buzzing around my yuppie herbs (the legal kind, just in case any overzealous dea agents are reading my journal) and my yuppie feet are wet cos i was spraying them with the yuppie hose and now i’m writing on my computer and, well, it’s very nice.
thanks,
moby
