MATT WESTON:
Saw the pant legs off these dungarees cowboy, if I could grow a mustache it would bunny hop suburban curbs until I flipped over the top and then have it removed from my guts after a marathon surgery, aviator glasses pulled out of shoeboxes in the closet labeled middle school memories, and all of the sudden, Jacksonville’s denizens looks like managers of Italian restaurants. Musty, musty. Stinky, stinky. Minshew, Minshew.
Yesterday Minshew’s Vishnu hyena cackle was merely a gurgle from sir Blake’s empty throne. Gold plated. Crimson cushion.