He writes in his kitchen in Southern California. He has a cactus named Carl and a job. He likes diet soda and cigarettes.
Go home Dad, you’re drunk.
To me they were a cookie cutter pop punk band that got a shot at the brass cock ring.
“I can’t live, I can’t breathe...”
“Whoa... who are the blue dudes?”
"We made it dude! Aliens DO exist!"
"THIS IS BIGGER THAN YOU AND I’M NOT AFRAID TO DIE FOR IT!
It was clear to me that a guy called El Scorpion from Colombia sounded less like some hero who rescues exotic animals and more like a guy who turns leaves into cocaine.
Tonight, we set our sights upward and cast our vision to the stars
Tom’s homemade spaceship - Your one way ticket to the afterlif
He only said one word: Space.
This is the end. My only friend. The end.
Alien Ant Farm was onstage butchering a Michael Jackson song when I felt a tap on my shoulder.