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twenty-seventh, jan man, no matter how many times you try to convince me otherwise, no matter how many times you refer to him as princess or fluffy, i can't shake the feeling that the spirit of genghis khan is somehow entombed deep inside your manx's soft, silvered and striped body. i'm so bitchin' at communicating with my girl, when she asked me if i didn't want to touch her cervix because i was scared of it, i responded with "no, it's just that i do not want to, so i don't want to, you know?" this dialogue continued in a cyclical motion for some time until she finally left the room. i got looks for laughing when two coke heads in the other room explained to me all the unhealthy aspects of coffee as they straightened their lines, blood dripping from their nostrils. |