Once Again I Show I Live. Once Again, Only With A Ramble
I should prolly say something that proves Phil is alive:
"I only like readers. Sorry, no time for hooligans. Readers and artists, those are my kind. But you ladies keep fucking the Conservative guys; yep, keep fuckin' the Tories, fuckin' the Republicans, these bull-neck, bulging-vein, fuckin' bur-cut water-head fucking idiots, you keep fucking 'em. Two-inch piggly-wiggly dicks, prolly can't even put 'em in you one time before they come. 'Ugh-uhhh, sorry honey. {{snores}}' Yeah, and then we see you on Donahue and Opera, you know, years from now going, 'I wish my husband would eat me more, make love to me better.' Hey, fuck it, you chose him, sorry, you had the artist who wanted to eat your butthole for dinner, but no. You chose Constervative Mr Bank Account. Well fuck off! Get in the tub and fucking raise your legs under the water. There! There! There's your fucking love! Let the poets jack off in circles in the woods! You get stuck with piggly-wiggly bur-cut two-inch pecker! Fuck it ... fuck the artist! That is your job! Fuck artist; find a flute player, someone who can use his fingers and his tounge! Fuck artist! ONLY! 'Uhh, I'm an accountant at Western & Western; I'm a lawyer...' NO!! You're now a jack-off king! I'm fucking a street musician over you! Guy who I can reside my buttox on his face.
Do I seem shallow?"
"I only like readers. Sorry, no time for hooligans. Readers and artists, those are my kind. But you ladies keep fucking the Conservative guys; yep, keep fuckin' the Tories, fuckin' the Republicans, these bull-neck, bulging-vein, fuckin' bur-cut water-head fucking idiots, you keep fucking 'em. Two-inch piggly-wiggly dicks, prolly can't even put 'em in you one time before they come. 'Ugh-uhhh, sorry honey. {{snores}}' Yeah, and then we see you on Donahue and Opera, you know, years from now going, 'I wish my husband would eat me more, make love to me better.' Hey, fuck it, you chose him, sorry, you had the artist who wanted to eat your butthole for dinner, but no. You chose Constervative Mr Bank Account. Well fuck off! Get in the tub and fucking raise your legs under the water. There! There! There's your fucking love! Let the poets jack off in circles in the woods! You get stuck with piggly-wiggly bur-cut two-inch pecker! Fuck it ... fuck the artist! That is your job! Fuck artist; find a flute player, someone who can use his fingers and his tounge! Fuck artist! ONLY! 'Uhh, I'm an accountant at Western & Western; I'm a lawyer...' NO!! You're now a jack-off king! I'm fucking a street musician over you! Guy who I can reside my buttox on his face.
Do I seem shallow?"