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Curses. So much porn on the internet, only so many ways to be amorous with lefty.

I must admit- *in Fez accent* I, too, am having the issue of chronically masturbating and bruising myself black and blue. crying On the upper hand, I do enjoy the color combination of thus said black/blue. My skin would promptly match the color of my eyes and the color of my clothes. biggrin Not to mention, Old King Cole had this very same issue not too long ago. If I do recall, he did cut his *ahem* and sat on a rock and dipped his -insert something very unpleasant here- in the sea.

"A peach is a leach; a bum is a plum,
a rat isn't a rat, without it's lung,
so open your turkey-sliced ears and shut your eyes,
then Quilty will sing you annoying lullabies."

Why must my poems be so uber lame in the hacky sack? .__.

I like that you sacrifice the flesh for fashion. It's all about coordinating, genitals be damned. I dig your poems, after I read them I do the beatnik snap-clap. And of then course, promptly resume the Palmela Handerson-ing.

The beatnik snap-clap? I always knew rats were dirty, but I didn't think they had such provocative minds such as this, Mr. Rat. gonk I must say, I'm rather disappointed that my imaginary, adorable theories on how rats would be like if they were able to speak in our tongue, but I guess this just proves that humans and rats are all the same. v.v I guess I'll stick to my non-sexual polar bears and flying orcas who show no interest in the lower part of under bellies of any other species. I found a bunch of really silly polar bear pictures on the interwebs {Google Images} the other day.

I thought this quote was neat. So I'm going to place this right here...

"It's sad that lollipops turn into cigarettes. The innocent ones turn into sluts. Homework goes in the trash. Mobile phones are being used in class. Detention becomes suspension. Soda becomes vodka. Bikes become cars. Kisses turn into sex. Remember when getting high meant swinging on the playground? When protection meant wearing a helmet? When the worst things you could get from boys were cooties? Your worst enemies were your siblings? Race issues were about who ran the fastest, and War was only a card game? When wearing a skirt didn't make you a slut? The only drug you knew was cough medicine, and the most pain you felt was when you skinned your knees? Remember when goodbyes only meant until tomorrow? And to think we couldn't wait to grow up..."


Now to completely ruin this lovely little comment:
Ratty, your butt's too hairy! I can't stand it!
The big airplane strip has just landed.
So spread your butt cheeks so I can can it! stressed

That quote about growing up was probably one of the most cripplingly sad yet lovely things I've ever read. <3 As for the the quote from "Back That a** Up"...I refuse to give in to a chauvenistic American society that insists I shave the magical woodland forest that is my arse. Where would all the nymphs and elves and fairies go? It's you and the construction companies that contribute to the homeless magical butt creature population, by causing (m)a** destruction in the form of deforestation. I did however, wax a heart with your name in it into my bum fur, I hope this is a sufficient compromise. Rats snap-clap...TZheo and Neville taught me, remember they went through that beatnik phase in college, when they were hanging out with Andy Warhol?

Isn't it so? Oh my, I never really thought were they would go.. I got an idea! We can grind them up in a wood chipper, stick them into Billy Mays Magic Bullet, and make magical slushies out of them. I heard they are notorious for their high contents of vitamins and minerals. I've been really needing something to boost up my health lately. What do you say? ...and if we find anymore of the fairy tale bastards, we can open up our own smoothy shop and sell them by the cups while playing old show-tunes over the sound system, and we can dress up in adorable little 1920's outfits. Then behind our beloved wholesome shop, there can be our magical creature slaughterhouse. We can keep them in tiny cages by the bulk and make them tip toe into the magical creature wood chipper boiler.

WHAT KIND OF SACRILEGE IS THIS? BILLY EFFING MAYS DIDN'T SELL THE MAGIC BULLET, MICK AND MIMI DO!!! I WOULD KNOW, I'VE SEEN THE INFOMERCIAL 1000 TIMES BECAUSE I'M OBSESSED!!!!!!
However...I like your ideas, I like your moxie, I like your face. Let's start a business.

Whoa, dood. Billy Mays sells EVERYTHING. I don't know what you're talking about. He packs his pants better than Wal*Mart. If it wasn't for Billy Mays, Mc.Donalds would be out of business by now. His info-order was so impressive, millions, no BILLY-IONS, came all around to info-order out of the Mc.Donalds drive thru. I like your dance steps, I like your moderately scary super frown, let's do business. ...in Starbucks.