Black Rebel Motorcycle Club ASK iAN * IN/EX MODELS

Ask iAN

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Yeah, so Carl Hung (pronounced J U N G) came up with this tripod label for us...x-tro or inner verts (per & secret per-verts) and I'll tell ya right goddamned now that extroverts have more fun, boy!

They ah...also die the prize is short tongue licked.

umph!  Another ego blow to the brain skillet!

Westerner fuck-O/American's are way more x-tro...they like the color RED, blowing bullet-holes in shit, eating mercurial sludge in public, fucking in phantom tollbooths, and having their name dragged along the CNN ticker tape for killing their boss who was some half toothed boot-legged merchant and human repellant car salesman who was also a tripple dipper stanker buddy that was ah fuckin' his pale nippled, methorexique, strange dong worshipping wife like some kinda crucifixion gone haywire with a rope trick in an auto butt-losing position, while badly double - parked in ah cum-stained baby Orange FORD Focus* vehicle in a school zone x-ing at 7:77 AM .

The Celestrian /Eastern sweet sword philosopher peoples...ah shux...who find chunks of harmony often in air particles, shoeless floors and bamboo blinds, along with opium tea, are more introverted...until it comes to Japonisme Art where we are introduced to sex through paintings revealing cocks with veins so thick you couldn't cut through one of them with a black and decker pecker wrecker, boy!  Dongs like Whale Skulls!  Shafting to and fro!  Like the Seas hammering down on a tiny Michael Jackson folded cape!


Excuse me...

Each and every intro or x-tro is a ticking timebomb...sometimes waiting to spring forth in a mad gathering of x-tros in a hot rally flash mob...full of swingin' nuts, sweaty arses, camel toe's lip synching out of time to the vocals, ear lobes twitchin' and ball hair tinglin' inanity, i profess to thee!

Good Lard man...Good Lord... .*

Then you got the quiet college kid...who is a perpetual mope...that one day comes to school and bust forth with an arsenal full enough to take out the entire 5th battalion of some old army or another....and ya got scoobied eyeballs, slickery buttholes, soap bar sized tears and moans and screams equivalent to that of a dog fight at Michael Vick's MTV pimped mah fuckun'crib onslaught.  The Human mostly shenanigans i tell thee...

but since you inquired...i shall confess that i am more of a loud person inside of a quiet person who prefers to stay home and only once in a while let the beast loose that is torpid within i am most likely in the centre...ambiversion, for most of the time...i listen to the wind, stars, elecotromagnetique waves...the rays from the sun shining out and the twitches of thin air a ghost can modify by slipping through a room....but sometimes, i must confess i do like to whip out my dick at someplace like a Helsinki disco...who the fuck knows!

Sometimes i too, profess to wear make up and slather it up with the grease guns, the bat cavers, and those whose thirst has not yet been quite slaked.  I like to piss with queers at one of my favorite gay bars in San Francisco, I like to shake my humor at the dick clark dick'a'thon, and drink from the tits of despair, agony and my short, sir!

All of that is mostly due to how criminal in boredom our race has become...
all cars must be shaped like eggs...
all award winning music must be without soul
all award winning films must star muppets...etc....

Lately i have had a need for broken glass, and then...well...some more broken glass...i yearn to hear the sound of a buzz saw over six strings of an electric mustang.....i want to take sledge hammers to those windows with little tiny wire fences born on the inside like ships within bottles and no love letter inside whatsoever....i have this need for plastic legs...sugar sprung panties...the sounds of broken jaws, slaughterhouses, fighter-jets biting the asphalt, and eye goggles sucked in backwards due to lack of oxygen and speed.....maybe i just need an ice cream sanich and a green beer...i dunno....

Not being Paris Hilton or some other small country that "needs" to be praised...i find myself most well adjusted...flying over words in a book at low speed...imagining my friends lying in comfort...dreaming cat dreams...listening to the sound of the day passing over me...breathing in slow carbonated smoke as chemtrails fall and dissipate into my absinthe...i like to work on mah bone, lounging next to an episode of Bonanza as the world spins out of control on false information, real information, propaganda, and self mutilated hi jinx*  I like to say good morning to the stars when it's dark and the day working dead are in the last grip of their slumbers...and remember our dust...while i am alone out there under the milky rays....i like the sound of a room with a fan on in it and nothing else but the molecules in the air fibrillating ....the sounds of a cigarette being put out in a glossy glass empty pint glass landing bottom flat on the wood of a bar or an antique writer's desk....telephones ain't my gig.

So i would have to vote for the introverted...but i adore my friends who are x-tro...and the times that they take me along and allow my vulgar and over heated poonjab of a pitbull x-trovert loose on the public....just don't let them shoot me,'s all in's all for in the sake of being quite alive...cause it's really all so fucking beautiful innit? where you get the work done....
x-tro is where you let the sounds shine....and share in this crazy spinning black and HD blue ball of a world we call life.....

be both.

be quiet to yourself

and laugh at yourself outloud...

emerald bath salts at home....and lipstick in the shape of a dick in public......

it's all's all rockand roll to me.... .* iAN*

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