bumper. heh.
Dear honeyface,
fuck you and your t-shirt and your sticky inner thighs. it's minus 30 here today. (yes: fuck you. and also: blow me. and i do write that on cubicle walls, fyi.)
you must have anticipated that i would argue that the ability of the guitar to dramatically increase anyone's attractiveness rating is more potent than you have described. i certainly have fallen for its rouse many times, as you have witnessed. ahem.
you know what also confuses my ability to accurately determine attractiveness? horned-rimmed glasses. i don't know why. i guess i usually assume the wearer is brooding and hip, instead of just gimpy-eyed and poor.
also, i was thinking that maybe i am not a good judge of attractiveness altogether. i mean, how many people have thrown up in their mouths while i cream over keef richards? the answer is: many.
so try to follow me on this . . . if what i consider 'hot', other people consider 'gross' . . . then maybe what i consider 'gross', other people consider 'hot'.
ergo, perhaps i actually smell delightful today.
but you know what smells gross, for sure, for sure? the rental car i got today. it reeks of old man perfume. bad. i got the stink on my hands from the steering wheel and i had to go wash (with soap, even). but listen to this: i was so disgusted by the pre-wash Brut cologne hand stink that i had to share it, so i burst into my boss' office and insisted he smell my fingers. no joke.
and . . . i'm fired.
anyway, i had to get a rental 'cause someone ran into the back of the beetle and they have to replace the bumper. and just now, i was reminiscing about all the fine times we've had on that bumper. loitering at the bank st. clocktower after a boozy sunday brunch comes to mind. you may remember the role the guitar played in the company i kept that day.
et voila,
spanky
fuck you and your t-shirt and your sticky inner thighs. it's minus 30 here today. (yes: fuck you. and also: blow me. and i do write that on cubicle walls, fyi.)
you must have anticipated that i would argue that the ability of the guitar to dramatically increase anyone's attractiveness rating is more potent than you have described. i certainly have fallen for its rouse many times, as you have witnessed. ahem.
you know what also confuses my ability to accurately determine attractiveness? horned-rimmed glasses. i don't know why. i guess i usually assume the wearer is brooding and hip, instead of just gimpy-eyed and poor.
also, i was thinking that maybe i am not a good judge of attractiveness altogether. i mean, how many people have thrown up in their mouths while i cream over keef richards? the answer is: many.
so try to follow me on this . . . if what i consider 'hot', other people consider 'gross' . . . then maybe what i consider 'gross', other people consider 'hot'.
ergo, perhaps i actually smell delightful today.
but you know what smells gross, for sure, for sure? the rental car i got today. it reeks of old man perfume. bad. i got the stink on my hands from the steering wheel and i had to go wash (with soap, even). but listen to this: i was so disgusted by the pre-wash Brut cologne hand stink that i had to share it, so i burst into my boss' office and insisted he smell my fingers. no joke.
and . . . i'm fired.
anyway, i had to get a rental 'cause someone ran into the back of the beetle and they have to replace the bumper. and just now, i was reminiscing about all the fine times we've had on that bumper. loitering at the bank st. clocktower after a boozy sunday brunch comes to mind. you may remember the role the guitar played in the company i kept that day.
et voila,
spanky
posted by Sticky & Spanky at 1:45 PM
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