owl eyed and bare boned
So it's been a while. Mr.Old Man time has caught up. Not like the wrinkles on your face are getting any shallower.
What a manifesto, “Have it your way.” Darling, can you really have anything your own way? Seems as if some teeter-totter has always got to dip their finger in your business. And what business would that be you say? Fill in the Blank.
I'll be frank with you. I never wanted anything more than waking up in the morning to my polished money green Benz and a gallon Bloody Mary. She's my best friend. Tell her everything. We have conversations constructed out of lies. You, my friends, I tell only the truth. Anyway, it's commencing my day with luxury that reassures my divine right to say to my self under my breath that oh, I am the most ridiculously savvy and successful person I know, as I snub my cookie cutter neighbor with my tweaked and feigned smile for having the ugliest Lexus I've every come across. Absolutely atrocious. The tenth commandment says [colon] luxury does not equate to taste. Need you anymore evidence see also [colon] the newest, latest, freshest Hummer truck out on the market soon enough for us all. Perhaps Mary and I will start a crusade against their release.
Even better, I say, an awakening. Awakening with a capitol A, like the Great Awakening of evangelical fervor where people wore huge red letters on their bare breasted, hairy chests that stood for things such a s Adultery, Ass Master, Ugly, Pornography, Pole Dancer, Polygamy and my favorite “Multilple-Yoga-Posish-Gummy Bear-Orgasmo-Lesbian-Dildo-Sodomist!" Only this time how 'bout cattle brands instead of those cute blazon letters? Lets get down to business, shall we? Too much for you, you say? I concur.
Today's preponderance: how all run-way models look so God damn pissed off, to the level of admitted constipation, as they pump down the cat walk. That is why no model should be trusted. I'd put all my eggs in the porn star basket if I could. They let it all out. Catwalk superficiality is quickly exhausted in such sultry work predicaments. That's all I have to say. Porn stars are the most real people out there. Cheers to that. Furthermore, you'll never be let down by someone who sleeps without their underwear. I’ve realized that. Life lesson no doubt.
Bikini waxes for all.
xoxo
What a manifesto, “Have it your way.” Darling, can you really have anything your own way? Seems as if some teeter-totter has always got to dip their finger in your business. And what business would that be you say? Fill in the Blank.
I'll be frank with you. I never wanted anything more than waking up in the morning to my polished money green Benz and a gallon Bloody Mary. She's my best friend. Tell her everything. We have conversations constructed out of lies. You, my friends, I tell only the truth. Anyway, it's commencing my day with luxury that reassures my divine right to say to my self under my breath that oh, I am the most ridiculously savvy and successful person I know, as I snub my cookie cutter neighbor with my tweaked and feigned smile for having the ugliest Lexus I've every come across. Absolutely atrocious. The tenth commandment says [colon] luxury does not equate to taste. Need you anymore evidence see also [colon] the newest, latest, freshest Hummer truck out on the market soon enough for us all. Perhaps Mary and I will start a crusade against their release.
Even better, I say, an awakening. Awakening with a capitol A, like the Great Awakening of evangelical fervor where people wore huge red letters on their bare breasted, hairy chests that stood for things such a s Adultery, Ass Master, Ugly, Pornography, Pole Dancer, Polygamy and my favorite “Multilple-Yoga-Posish-Gummy Bear-Orgasmo-Lesbian-Dildo-Sodomist!" Only this time how 'bout cattle brands instead of those cute blazon letters? Lets get down to business, shall we? Too much for you, you say? I concur.
Today's preponderance: how all run-way models look so God damn pissed off, to the level of admitted constipation, as they pump down the cat walk. That is why no model should be trusted. I'd put all my eggs in the porn star basket if I could. They let it all out. Catwalk superficiality is quickly exhausted in such sultry work predicaments. That's all I have to say. Porn stars are the most real people out there. Cheers to that. Furthermore, you'll never be let down by someone who sleeps without their underwear. I’ve realized that. Life lesson no doubt.
Bikini waxes for all.
xoxo