Christ, that looked like a diet seven up getting canned than bottom raped by gerbal wearing a shirt saying "the wheel master". Didn't they tell you? you're not a loud on the bus.

I'm not a fan of Jesus, but on this one occasion I will say, on his behalf, better that test tube than your gene pool. Because you're an obvious wet pretzel. Totally fucking useless.

Art.

You will always be one of my favourites.

Dedicated to Leonore, in the hopes that we can all one day have such a refined and impeccable taste, as she does, in farm animals.

This poem has become a forum of the profane. I shall give it a 10, or what the old hippy upstairs would say "23.8457654657" whatever in the greenest fuck posible, that means.

A title's the least of your worries, I'm afraid.

Like Dots, the chewing never ends.

There a lot of women out there that assume this is about them? It's not, it's about homosexuality.

A legend is born, "The Beard'd Turde Cutter".

Dull

Indeed, remember when the kept asking Michael J. Fox what was with the life jacket in back to the future, and when the Navy would be setting sail! Yay. But one must ask if a chicken breast was wearing a vest would that said breast be a lesbian turkey tit imposter?

It's rare that I would have something in common with a being of your obvious and rare talent, but at least we have your confusion in common, and that's a tasteful start to a dreadfully dull penning if ever.

You spelled 'Cream' "Dream" for one.

And 'Monkey Fluff', "foilage", but I thought that was brilliant.

real good.

Me too, I had a herpe so fucking huge last week, I could stand behind it.

"You are" not so bright aye?

radical

Could you turn "plume" to plumb and "afternoon" to afterpoon. I believe then, you would recieve the heavenly thrust required to slice your ear off and fially eat it with some fresh parsnip and vinegar.

Fuck, that's bad.