Wu Tong Clan
Fucked up frenzie—into the wild blue. Kegs of schlock ready for squelching. No weak cunts out here. Just pure and nasty rough riders. Leather chaps and all-just came off the donkey haul, dry mouths and a belly full of balls, ‘some trip ay?’ Says Tong, ‘oh yeah!’ says Wu. They paid for the cowboy trip of a lifetime. Westworld styl-robotic cowboys with faces hiding wired-up computer plates with memories and all. These guys get a kick outta’’ shooin up a place but the goddamn robots start taking their women with the tiny titties, ant-tight holes. Robots stay hard long time. ‘Oh, shit Wu, we’ve been duped! Let’s make for the horizon on our headless horses! Grab the reigns and crack that whip, leave those hos behind. The rear-quarters aint worth the money. How we get back to reality?’ asks Tong. Wu says just follow the sun and we’ll be eatin’ grits by noon. Tong clenches his cheeks on the smooth leather and rideS, ridES riDES into the desert—dust swirling in rounds behind the metallic anus of his ass. ‘Fuck. Something went wrong with this fantasy.’ says Tong. Wu just smiles, enjoying the computerised placard of fantasy acid clamped to the inside of his armpit and rolls his eyes, yelling yippy Kay Yay mutha’ fucka’!
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