In sane times, Josh feigns crimes; in strained rhymes, he pain-dines on primetime slime: pasta fagioli. Ghouls wanna be him, but can he swim? His cookie skim 'bout to send him to prison, so tune in, ladies and gentlemen, The Jesus of Cola has risen.
Meanwhile, we make coke, glue stuff to our cars, and rob a bunch of children.
Pairings: nerves of steel and a giant appetite; scruples; not being Josh's friend on the internet