Monday, September 17, 2007
Punch Drunk 'Bag
Punch Drunk ‘Bag has the puka shell muscle choad look down perfectly. He’s like the foreign kid in highschool who took out all of his culture-shock frustrations by spendng six hours a day in the weight room. Pumping up with an angry “don’t talk to me” scowl and listening to 1980s Swedish death metal blasting on his iPod.
You rock with your bad self, Punch Drunk ‘Bag. And I dig that boat you’re on. Very Miami nouveau riche.
Persian Kitty makes me want to sing hymns in Sanskrit while inventing Algebra.
