Zits are tough. And what's a girl to do when she can't find her legendary wrinkled cut-offs, probably because they're wadded up on the balcony underneath a pile of empty Colt 45 bottles, three used condoms, and a spittoon?
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Miles: It tastes like the back of a f*ing L.A. school bus. Now they probably didn't de-stem, hoping for some semblance of concentration, crushed it up with leaves and mice, and then wound up with this rancid tar and turpentine bull****. F*in' Raid. Jack: Tastes pretty good to me.
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