A good night spent in Keizer, a city planning 101 project gone horribly wrong, somewhere in the vicinity of Salem, the jolly old state capitol. I could describe the people I hang out with there, but nothing I could say would do them justice. It's fun, is all I'm saying
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Meanwhile, can I get a fuckin vote on your hair, please? First of all, let me be the first to say that yeah, it looks like a fucked up dye job. Yeah, it turns raspberry-lemonade cheerleader beer pink in the right sunlight. You know what? SHUT THE FUCK UP, PUSSY. You have long flowing locks of sex hair that every chick I've ever introduced you to or shown your picture has wanted to get her hands all tangled in whilst engaging in acts they'd only allow a guy with aforementioned long flowing locks of sex hair to demand of them. And you know your hair has this effect on women. And you're getting laid right now, n'est-ce pas? What the fuck are you bitching about?
Even with a halo of blondey-pinkness going on, you can still milk that carnal knowledge magnet for as long as you choose to have it. You're ( ... )
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Also, do you remember the time you didn't believe me when I told you that "Summertime" was originally a composition of Gershwin's?
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