So my progressive man crush dropped out of the race and I have this intense fear of satellite war ruining my outer space retirement plans. These things have kept any word smithing on my part to a minimum. I still glue (*)(*)(*)(*) to other more delectable (*)(*)(*)(*) here and there, but no po-ams in verse or otherwise.
While a 5 piece nugget from Wendy's will still make me poop, I have been learning how to stop worrying about the economy. It comes to me in ideas on how I can turn my stimulus package into a fancy chrome sex toy or invest it in the salty Polish goat cheese called "Oscypek." The EU has just made it a verifiable regional product. Soon it will be on buns everywhere.
My loans go up
My lust goes up
Temperatures go up and so does the price of coffee in Caracas
With hopes for your approval I submit these images alongside this dictum:
"Get a (*)(*)(*)(*)ing job and buy your own (*)(*)(*)(*) cigarettes you stinkin' hippy."
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