See you later Monday, Apr. 12, 2004 The purest love I will ever know is a stream of pee aimed at snow. Smoke rises from the dead like an apple hitting you on the head. Your skin, your womb, the micro machines by galoob make me take something to my tomb. Not a sphere, not a cube, not a tube of lube, but four drums and a cymbal left by the Chattahube. |
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