Take me down

Woke up, the hangover index was not too high. Some male bro conversation in the parking lot involving lots of HELLAs and DUDEs. Went outside to retrieve my car from the street and park it in my shaded spot. Walked down the middle of the parking lot street like a high noon gunslinger. A giant, massive, obnoxious white monster truck pulled into the complex, twelve feet off the ground, blasting "Paradise City" by Guns N' Roses [sic]. Out on the street, bordering suburbia, a woman was working on the little brick ivy garden in her front yard. She had a massive ass, a white girl with a black ass (wgwaba). Everything is big and overfed in Amerika. Obscene, swollen, hydrocephalic. The woman's son came out to help her with some handheld cutting device. More noise.
Shit, it cuts right through the brick.
Really?
Yeah, but this is woodbrick.
I parked the car and walked back. Waved at my hot stoner downstairs neighbor as she was leaving, a tight yellow shirt, asspants and those ridiculous oversized sunglasses.
In the tennis court two white males were pitching a baseball back and forth as hard as they could. Slap thumps in their mitt romneys, like beating a cow with a bullwhip.
Where was I?
David Lynch calls it Dumbland.
What was I?
Water, gas, tubes and fluids, dead hair dead skin dead nails, eyestalks connected to a brain, empty spaces, tattooed skin, itchy back, formidable penis, cephalopod ballsack, goatee, teeth, involuntary muscles heartbeat thoughts, nerve endings. Quiv'rin' jelly brain vagina legs. Well, no vagina had I. The vagina had left the building.
When was I?
Now? Now was already gone, fleeting, fleeing like one of those slippery rubber waterdicks you get at the carnival.
How was I?
Competitive sperm.
Why was I?
Still not sure after 34 years.
Who was I?
No idea.