O Fortuna

I got my mind on my money, and my money on my mind. But I don't have much, so I don't think that often. I was trying to make time with this girl at the grocery store the other day. But she wasn't having it. I thought I was a better alternative to mustard, but alas I am not. She was intent on finding the perfect mustard. I have to admire someone who spends 25 minutes looking at all the different varieties of mustard. Maybe the bitch is just a crank victim. I found out some pimp shit today. I was doing my closing shit before I get my start date, so I was hurriedly ranking my top ten choices of where I want to be stationed. When I got the option to request additional training, it turns out that in between OCS and OBS I can do what I want. So I picked Airborne. Fucking A. I'll be the only Intel guy who jumps out of planes. I could have picked nothing, but I figure what the hell, why not. I am sure that someone has the motto of never half-ass anything. So I decided to be like them. I hope it is Ike Turner, because that would be chic if we shared a motto, at least for a day.
I'm looking for a car to buy for when I get done with my shit. Lurch, my current ride, needs to go. Lurch is a great car, but a piece. So I want a 69-71 cutlass supreme convertible, or a 66 or 67 mustang fastback. Yeah. So if you got one, give it to me. If you're rich, buy it for me.
I need a bunch of shit. I realized the other day that I ain't got shit. Nothing. I ain't got any cookware, silverware, glasses, furniture, a bed, sheets, tables, a TV or a dresser. All I got is clothes, shoes, quilts and a couple rugs. Not wigs, but the Asian kind. And not Asian wigs neither. But to each their own, maybe they are wigs. So I need shit.
I finished that book and you can't have my copy. But you can go buy your own shit. You got a job.
I had this fucked up dream last night where an Asian dude was trying to break into my house to steal my briefcase. Well not my briefcase, but its contents, which was eight stacks of high society. I don't know why I had eight grand on my, but whatever. Anyway, he was trying to break in and there was a blizzard, so he kept getting buried in snow, but he shot his way out and broke in through my screen door, which I ain't got. I shot him with a shotgun, but it seems, only handgun bullets can hurt my man, so he got away. Well the detective interviewing me was some hot girl who wrote me a check for my losses. Then charged me eight grand to sleep with her. Only we never slept together. I woke up.