Shine silently
If every broken promise I was given and gave back in return was a square foot of wallpaper, this little room of mine would be a more colorful atmosphere. An atmosphere where nothing important happens tonight or tomorrow night, but maybe enough unimportant things will happen that they'll pile up and become one big important thing for me to be proud of or regret or love or despise.
How I stopped worrying and loved the talent: It's okay to love the talent, it's okay it's okay it's okay. Don't you know that talent's the evidence of a life's work? It's not like a tree or a valley, both of which had no hand in making themselves exist, but it is a quality not unlike honesty or firm calves. Exact same thing.
This year, this season, I'm just all hot and bothered for Christmas. Christmas is my girlfriend, and we are in love, and she's coming to my place for about 25 days and it's gonna be WILD! Of course at the end when the wreaths are unwreathed, the mistletoe's unhung, and all the egg nog's wiped off my sticky bosom, I'll be left with a self-loathing that eats away at my soul, whispering "Why? Why? Why did you let it happen again with this harlot of a holiday?" Also, I've had no intimate encounters concerning mistletoe and this year I have no goal to but I do intend to make as many people as uncomfortable as possible by the mere THREAT of it. I am filled with Christ's love and the spirit of Christmas and also a measurable percentage of BULLHICKEY. Bring it on, Santa.
How I stopped worrying and loved the talent: It's okay to love the talent, it's okay it's okay it's okay. Don't you know that talent's the evidence of a life's work? It's not like a tree or a valley, both of which had no hand in making themselves exist, but it is a quality not unlike honesty or firm calves. Exact same thing.
This year, this season, I'm just all hot and bothered for Christmas. Christmas is my girlfriend, and we are in love, and she's coming to my place for about 25 days and it's gonna be WILD! Of course at the end when the wreaths are unwreathed, the mistletoe's unhung, and all the egg nog's wiped off my sticky bosom, I'll be left with a self-loathing that eats away at my soul, whispering "Why? Why? Why did you let it happen again with this harlot of a holiday?" Also, I've had no intimate encounters concerning mistletoe and this year I have no goal to but I do intend to make as many people as uncomfortable as possible by the mere THREAT of it. I am filled with Christ's love and the spirit of Christmas and also a measurable percentage of BULLHICKEY. Bring it on, Santa.