After eating an entire box of Soft Batch Chips A’Hoy in milk like it was cereal I passed out watching Coco Before Chanel. I dreamed I was cranking a endless wheelie on a Yamaha Banshee like nobodies, when I ended up sliding down a rainbow into this pink prison cell. I was surrounded by these baby pictures.
The baby made fun of my clothes and told me I had horrible style. It told me my gravestone would have Papyrus font on it. It could see right through me, it knew I sold fake Rolex watches to Bryce Harrison senior year. Sometimes the baby’s hair would blow in the non existent wind and it seemed to play a song by Skrillex.
Suddenly, like your favorite song coming out of Pandora unexpectedly, the baby popped out of the photos and sat in front of me. I remember feeling slightly pissed that I couldn’t possibly post this on my blog, and no one is going to believe this happened. So I sucked my thumb like a black teenager and listened to a story the baby tried to tell me. But nothing came out because the dude still talked like a baby to all it said was “Dada” and “I’m sorry” but in a baby voice.