Don't get stoned if you're going to make an appearance on the radio.

Speaking of stoned, some sly magician tells me there are some strong hits of “Blue Sunshine” entering the coastal areas of San Tropez.
I’ll take his word for it...

Well, thats hoping the paparazzi doesn’t get a little too shutter-happy with their Digital SLRs in the tropics.
I mean that’s partially the reason I don’t play football.
The last thing in life that I need is some sports freak poking his high-tech, artsy camera-eye at my helmeted face.
However, I think it is safe to assume that celebrities aren’t boring enough for the paparazzi to take weekend escapades to the violent, sports fields.

Last I heard of Magic Jackson, he found an inventive way of manipulating glue-sticks into a treasure-trove of identity theft.
Trust me, just keep wearing the cloaks and you’ll find the doorway to the fourth dimension.
Some of New York’s finest have already taken a stab at alternate realities.
To get your picture taken, you pretty much just have to show up to the club.

I won’t point the finger at club-goers, considering the current political climate.
Realistically, you have a politician attempting some real cold-blooded gains defending the Texan in the White House.
I can even see her scales turning green, as she moves in for a lick.

I am done clowning around with HTML, but I do have special message for a special, absent-minded party animal.
Ms. Diaz, you left your purse floating in my fish-tank, but I do wish you a Happy Birthday, whenever it may be.