Yo Billy, just pretend this thread is a living room and we are all just laughing and talking, drinking diet Shasta and then u turn to me and say 'who are you? And I slyly, with oh so upturned brow (as I set my drink down on a collectors edition Goonies coaster) say 'Billy, we're all worried (doesn't mean our lives are better than yours but u are in need of focused intervention not scattershot advice) there's a car waiting outside to take u to the tatoo removal clinic.'....And u get pissed and yell 'Nooooo!' And u gnash ur teeth and fling ur half eaten Lil' Debbie Zebra cake at whoever looks the guiltiest, then I say 'Billy, Mr. Guns, Billeezabub, lets get u back on track.' And the word 'back' sets u off again and ur jaw clenches shut and u suffers a slight paralysis of the cremaster muscles. Then, when ur overnight bag is packed (lunchable, toothbrush, calling card [20 minutes left], package of sour gushers and mood ring) we all lovingly see u being driven off into the sunset and return to the living room to get lit and try and score with runningmom (true story, no schlomo).
