i said i was gonna be the rambo of signs, and i was man. i killed it. aced it. nailed it down tighter than uma's coffin in volume two.
we met rad crazy sign walkers almost all of whom quit on us and we had to hire a total mexican staff today for one of the jobs. but they DID GREAT! arizona has way better mexicans than cali, fo sho.
chuck the 80 year old skater turned sign walker/sign helper hooked us up fat, with even some vicod3ns, so we let him use the shower in our hotel room.
"aw hell yah dawg, i'm on the lookout for the cookout"
the only way we even survived was by laughing our asses off and being out-of-our-mind stoned at all times.
i was so stressed out before i left for the trip, and actually all during the trip too. worried that the shit was gonna hit the fan, and i'd have to trudge through some fucking drama, cuz every sign job has drama.
but by the end all i could feel was hatred for all things arizona, like i was suffocating in it. and i could barely stand it any longer. whitey felt the same way.
we just put our shoulders down, and fucking barrelled through it, and i feel like i wanna run a marathon right now. well not really.
i think i'm gonna eat the last of the vicoden and pass out ihere in my apartment... a place i've missed SO BAD.
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