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12.01.2004it's not you...
but it sure as fuck ain't me... it's those retarded midgets... it's the little gnomes that live in my crotch... it's mr. snuffleupagus... it's those fucking commie bastards... it's just that, well, your breasts are way too small... it must've been someone else who looks just like you but is much more of a bitch... actually, your boobs are fine, it's your ass that's disproportionate... it's just that my marshmallow man can't stay puft... i bet you've heard this one before!... and when i say it's not you, what i mean is, it's you... thirty-seven?... it's all those cosmo/vogue/vanity fair/redbook/esquire quizzes about sex/life/dating/eating/hair styles/nail polish/potato ricers/aromatherapy shit/ass wart cream... it's that thing you do... but you sure are ugly... it's the other twelve guys you fucked this week... it's just that i'd rather dip my testicles in a vat of hydrochloric acid than spend another minute with you... but if i were able to change your name, i think i'd make it rhyme with "gunt"
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talk to me, dance with meblah, blah, blah...
hartford whalers links
sure sign that i'm maturing
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tv is more of a parent to me than you'll ever be
video games being played by me
get off your ass and go somewhere
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