Foul And Magical Fumes Bubbled Out Of

People Always Stay The Age That They Died At. My Big Brother Died Of Leukemia When I Was Six. He Was Eight. Now When I Think Of Him, He's Always Eight, And He's Still My Big Brother. He Never Changes, And The Part Of Me That Remembers Him Never Changes.

They Want To Be Tied Up, I Tie Them Up. They Want To Be Spanked, I Spank Them. They Want To Be Called Names, I Call Them Names. But Try And Drink A Little Of Their Blood, And They Scream Like Babies. What About My Needs?

Last Time I Really Got To Know Myself It Turned Out There Was A Whole Gang Of Bitches In There To Deal With. I Felt Like The Receptionist At A Rehab Center. They All Had Nice Tits Though, I Gotta Say.

Sarcasm Will Make Your Tits Fall Off.

For A While He'd Tried Molding Himself Into The Tragic Romantic Hero, Brooding And Staring Clench-jawed Off Into Space As He Composed Dark Verse In His Head. But It Turned Out That Trying To Appear Tragic In Incontinence, Indiana, Was Redundant, And His Mother Kept Shouting At Him And Making Him Forget His Rhymes. "tommy, If You Keep Grinding Your Teeth Like That, They'll Wear Away And You'll Have To Have Dentures Like Aunt Ester." Tommy Only Wished His Beard Was As Heavy As Aunt Ester's---then He Could Stare Out Over The Moors While He Stroked It Pensively.