I'm a gangsta, but cha'll knew dat, big baus dawg, yeee I had to do dat. Keep a blue flag hangin' out ma backside only on the left side, yeeeee das da crip side.
Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that the thug life really does feel so damn good. My bestest bro comes home from a magical far away trip abroad to the land of beer cheaper than water, and I'm looking forward to getting my fellow party juggernaut back. His adventure has me yearning for out of country travel, but I've never done it before so I'm only going off of TV, movies, stories, and of course, my fantasies.
After applying for my very first passport on Monday, I am especially filled with lofty dreams of white sand and clear aquamarine water.
I may or may not require the ability to legally leave the country, but being able to go outlet malling would make me feel a lot less left out. Hearing tales of the oversold goods and not quite par designer clothing have built up high expectations over the years. If Gap miss mates and odd size clothing isn't enough, there's always Trader Joe's...
Upon further reflection, it's probably best the drinking age is 21 in America, maybe by then I'll have a real job and will be able to afford the wholesale liquor and snack treats in outrageous quantities I so long for.