Repeat After Me

Perhaps if we're nice, he'll go away
He'll go away?

Hey there Johnny you really don't fool me
You get away with murder and you think it's funny
You don't give a damn if we live or if we die,
Hey there Johnny boy
I hope you fry!

I don't care what that crap he's drawn all over him s'posed to mean.

He touches my Funyuns, he is a dead man. Elf. Thing.

Least he looks like he's made of meat. Meat that's gone a bit off, yei, greenish hue. But meat anyways.

Can't rightly kill the other one. He's right hard t' stab. Gets all...flinty...when y'poke him too hard.

Honestly. She's got horrific taste in men. 'Cept fer me, o' course.

She turned round right fast in the hall an' almost knocked me over. Wearin' one of these, like, exceptin' it had no straps, an' big tall wedge heels she couldn't hardly clunk around in 'cause they were so high.

Shit, I wish she woulda tripped. Then we'd all've seen what little girls are made of.

So I'm sittin' there, not mindin' my own, like usual, an' she's flittin' through the headlines an' stops to point one out to me, an' then explains what this means:

"Topless cafe gives neighbors the jitters!"

(Y'know, I was thinkin' they were kinda stupid for not havin' a roof here. It rains.)

What, they're next door to a church?

Y'know, to be goin' without yer shirt inna place that serves hot coffee? Takes some, lady; my hat's off to ya. AN' my shirt.

*Ahem*.

Mi, mi, mimimiiiiiiiiiiiiiii...

*hack!* *gasp*

I KISSED A GIRL, AN' I LIKED IT.

Here, now.

Y'can grab the devil up an' slice one of his horns right off an' roll him around in powdered sugar all y'want.

It still won't make him a unicorn.

So.

Today I was findin' out what it is, exactly, that happens when y' microwave soap.

Needin' stitches?

Girly can't sew.

Yer dead, boyo.

Anyhow. I'd be likin' to posit, which means put out, an' sure it is, if there's anythin' I love it's puttin' out...

Him that dies with the most toys?

Is a corpse.

“No, these are Tarkatan warriors.” Kitana said as the balled creatures with sharp teeth moved in on them.

Hah! That's right, baby. I got big bad steely ones, me. Come get some.

Tripe? TRIPE?

Yer jokin' me. Y'll print whatever nonsense spews outta Princess Fangface O' The Housea Kahn, an' I'M the one who writes TRIPE.

Least I don' whine 'bout everything nonstop.

Hey, hey, cryin' in yer beer doesn' count. No it DOESN' and stop rollin' your pretty little eyes at me. Makes me wanna lick you.

Know what's the best thing ever? Gevalia coffee. With nothin' in it 'cept sugar. LOTS o' sugar.