Tell me. What it means? I am dying to know. I swear by it, if it's true.
You always try to preach to me. You always try to stuff your wisdom down my pants straight to my butthole where I hope to take a shit on it.
That's how much I am dying to know what it means.
When truly, I have no clue what you are talking about. Just like a cat, you call my name, and I walk away. I read your words when I'm thinking of a massive bloody steak with a healthy Asian seaweed salad on the side. Then I'll follow it down with a Kure juice smoothie, and then devour a bacon cream donut.
How's that for irony? Or is that hypocrisy? Say to the what? I care about your proclamation of 2014 as much as I care for the doodoo I want to eat.
You are a phony quaking bigot. I graduated high school and college, in honors, so I can fuck off for the rest of my life. Vocabulary was my worst subject. Fucking off were my best subjects. I can type like a nose on coke, and a heart on speed. I can write what I want too. In whatever form, I want to, too. Use whatever word I choose to, too. Punctuation, indeed!
Maybe that's why you fired me from my writing job. Yet you hired me too. Isn't it ironic? I love that Sinead O" Connor song.
What it means is, why does the family across the street own 5 cars? I need to investigate this.
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