JUSTIFICATION FOR FAILING EYESIGHT.
It was probably the white linen pants. I was walking behind him one day. We were going to KOHLS or some equally dreary space and he was wearing these white linen pants and the whole situation was very disheartening. I looked firmly at the white linen pants and wished then for a malfunctioning helicopter to descend on the parking lot and relieve me of what was necessary. We went in to the store and I imagine that he bought more white linen pants. From then on you would be able to find me in a very dark cinder block room clutching chickens and wine as though chickens and wine is a respiratory and a respirator is a liberator.
ESTABLISHING AN ALL-INCLUSIVE INTERNET PRESENCE
So you go to this strip club and Margie says to you “Grandma took the car away again. That stupid prune-fueled bitch threw the keys in the nearest lake.” I do not want your career services pamphlet. I want tacos with Sarah Doolittle. Tacos and new socks. Seven socks, three tacos. Blackened shrimp. You’ll be spitting red by 4AM if mother doesn’t wake up to the sound of red. Here’s my Latin malignancy: we wear jeans now to support the troops and play high-schooler smart boy girlfriend featuring recently trimmed bangs. But returning to Sarah; I haven’t seen teeth constructed on the roof of a church and her paint wears the latest scarves, spreading open smiling.
After Ryan left him and moved back in with Aunt Liza he, not knowing where else to align, began sleeping with his books. He was bled limp after a threesome he had with Kathy Acker and Carl Hiassen. Carl got real rough with Kathy and he tried to step in and mediate but by then there was so much mess. Randy was called to the scene but his tater tots weren’t ready so that was all.