"booby" poems
*****
I like ***** I like ****
before you touch, you must get permits.
Nothing like a nice pair of assets,
oh how puppies make nice pets.
Bazongas are ***** that are large,
strippers and hookers, will always charge.
Nothing like the perfect *****
but only on the perfect woman.
******* are yummy dark or white,
but first you must wait for an invite.
Some girls even have a third ******
do not squeeze says Mr. Whipple.
I don't mind girls on the itty, bitty, ***** committee,
on a carpenters dream, I show no pity.
They could be called a bust, some call them cans,
a woman's squeeze box, all men are fans.
Chesticles is a term I have never heard,
but everyday, I learn a new word.
I like cones, I like jugs,
girls with big ones, I give hugs.
Al Bundy loved calling them *******
at the restaurant, I wish I was one of the recruiters.
A girl with a nice set of knockers,
might find herself with unwanted stalkers.
Fergie sang about her lovely lady lumps,
a good set of melons, still give me goose bumps.
***** always come in a pair,
why do bra's, they have to wear.
Even men who smoke lots of crack,
still can appreciate a good sized rack.
I don't care if there fake or real.
in a crowded room, I always cop a feel.
Girls love showing off some cleavage,
I wish I lived in a ***** village.
Babies need breast milk to make them stronger,
if the mom is hot, they may do it longer.
In conclusion, I love *****
with whipped cream or melting ice cubes.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
The Story
by Kamal Nasser
translation by Michael R. Burch
I will tell you a story ...
a story that lived in the dreams of my people,
a story that comes from the world of tents.
It is a story inspired by hunger and embellished by dark nights of terror.
It is the story of my country, a handful of refugees.
Every twenty of them have a pound of flour between them
and a few promises of relief ... gifts and parcels.
It is the story of the suffering ones
who stood waiting in line ten years,
in hunger,
in tears and agony,
in hardship and yearning.
It is a story of a people who were misled,
who were thrown into the mazes of the years.
And yet they stood defiant,
disrobed yet united
as they trudged from the light to their tents:
the revolution of return
into the world of darkness.
Kamal Nasser was a much-admired Palestinian poet and Palestinian Christian, who due to his renowned integrity was known as "The Conscience." He was a member of Jordan's parliament in 1956. He was murdered in 1973 by an Israeli death squad whose most notorious member was future Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Barak. Barak (born Ehud Brog) later ruled as Israel’s tenth Prime Minister from 1999 to 2001. His adopted Hebrew name Barak means "lightning." As a younger man, Brog/Barak was a member of a secret assassination unit that liquidated Palestinians in Lebanon and the occupied territories. In the 1973 covert mission Operation Spring of Youth in Beirut, which was part of the larger Operation Wrath of God, he disguised himself as a woman in order to assassinate Palestinians. The raid resulted in the deaths of two women, one of them an elderly Italian. Two Lebanese policemen were also killed, along with the poet Kamal Nasser.
Nasser was the PLO's most prominent Christian and he enjoyed "great appeal" in Lebanon, Syria, and Iraq "both as a distinguished poet and likeable personality." He was the “conscience of the Palestinian revolution,” according to Nazih Abul-Nidal, who worked with him on the magazine Filastin al-Thawra. Nasser “had the most democratic outlook of all Palestinian leaders at the time,” he recalls. He respected opposing views, admired the commitment of young people, and was a major recruitment asset for the Palestinian revolution. “That is why he was put high on the hit-list.” The previous year, the Israelis had murdered another renowned Palestinian writer and activist in Beirut, Ghassan Kanafani, by booby-trapping his car. Nasser’s successor, Majed Abu Sharar, was also assassinated by Israelis, in Rome in 1981 while attending a conference in solidarity with the Palestinian people.
Keywords/Tags: Kamal Nasser, Palestinian, Palestine, PLO, Conscience, Ramallah, Christian, religion, poet, Arab, Arabic, Arab Spring, betrayal, conflict, courage, devotion
Dec 9, 2021
Dec 9, 2021 at 7:55 AM UTC
.
Legos
Rubik ' s Cube
Stress ***** Top
Squirt gun Yo-yo
Slinky GI Joe Hot
Wheels Action F
igures Col lectibl
e Puzzles Etch A
SketchStuffed An
imals Marbles Do
llsCards Kite Perp
plexus Le a p Pad
Magic School Bus
Micro s co p e Kit
Vibrating Rubber Duck
ie Handcuffs Oral *** Strip
Glowing Stretchy Vibrating *****
Doll theLibera tor Soloflesh
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
She was the ***** prize, he left her cos she had none.
He was a right ***
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 3:33 PM UTC
Once a year they'll disappear
To a place their wives can't go
With chicken wings and other things
To watch the super bowl
A place where chick flicks don't abide
For testosterone rules this place
A place where a man can be a man
With no girly stuff or lace
A place so secret even the FBI
Don't know of its existence
It's guarded by lots of ***** traps
And mans undying persistence
A place where women cannot enter
I'm talking about their wives
A secret knock will open the door
To a land of beer and high fives
So if your husbands disappear
Without even a kiss or a wave
He's only gone for once a year
To visit his secret Man Cave
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 7:24 AM UTC
the air was thick and heavy
the sun was heating up the sky
And somewhere in the jungle
more men were gonna die
The streets were full of people
Feral dogs were running free
The haze was thick and murky
The sun you couldn't see
It's a Saigon Sunday Morning
Ten more men were going home
To a flag tri-corner folded
And a marker of white stone
The men were all assembled
To load them up with care
It was a Saigon Sunday Morning
with ten men no longer there
The jungle was a minefield
The trees were blocking out the light
It was ***** trapped like crazy
And it seemed like it was night
A patrol went hunting "Charlie"
But, they were found out first
It only took twelve seconds
And it turned out for the worst
The city never noticed
The 'copters flying overhead
Whether bringing in supplies
Or taking out the dead
It was a Saigon Sunday Morning
It never changed one little bit
The air was always heavy
And the alleys smelled like ****
Back home the news delivered
The families destroyed
They were waiting for their loved ones
A short time were deployed
Ribbons tied around the Oak Tree
to support those coming back
On a Saigon Sunday Morning
With twenty bullets in their back
A transport with the bodies
Drops fifty more to play the game
It's a vicious, endless, circle
The procedure's all the same
It's a Saigon Sunday Morning
Ten more men were going home
To a flag tri-corner folded
And a marker of white stone
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 11:07 AM UTC
"We have come to be danced
not the pretty dance
not the pretty pretty, pick me, pick me dance
but the claw our way back into the belly
of the sacred, sensual animal dance
the unhinged, unplugged, cat is out of its box dance
the holding the precious moment in the palms
of our hands and feet dance
We have come to be danced
not the jiffy ***** shake your ***** for him dance
but the wring the sadness from our skin dance
the blow the chip off our shoulder dance
the slap the apology from our posture dance
We have come to be danced
not the monkey see, monkey do dance
one, two dance like you
one two three, dance like me dance
but the grave robber, tomb stalker
tearing scabs & scars open dance
the rub the rhythm raw against our souls dance
WE have come to be danced
not the nice invisible, self conscious shuffle
but the matted hair flying, voodoo mama
shaman shakin’ ancient bones dance
the strip us from our casings, return our wings
sharpen our claws & tongues dance
the shed dead cells and slip into
the luminous skin of love dance
We have come to be danced
not the hold our breath and wallow in the shallow end of the floor dance
but the meeting of the trinity: the body, breath & beat dance
the shout hallelujah from the top of our thighs dance
the mother may I?
yes you may take 10 giant leaps dance
the Olly Olly Oxen Free Free Free dance
the everyone can come to our heaven dance
We have come to be danced
where the kingdom’s collide
in the cathedral of flesh
to burn back into the light
to unravel, to play, to fly, to pray
to root in skin sanctuary
We have come to be danced
WE HAVE COME"
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
Pacing the floor in the middle of this
watching the kettle 'til steam starts to hiss
A strange fascination we have with the bliss
with nothing behind us but one heated kiss.
Underneath an umbrella I stand in the rain
and wait on the platform for the six o'clock train
well you never quite hold me and I rarely complain
and soaked with frustration I walk home again.
We bid for each other in some Chinese auction
and you got the ***** one mixed up concoction
we checked out our prizes at a much closer range
What were we thinking and can we exchange?
And without any memories to dry up the tears
we long for the fire and the comfort of years
but it's just one more lesson, a good one we learned.
the slow-cooker is better and we're less often burned.
And then as I ponder you come in the door
I smile at your tired eyes and looking for more
I stir up the *** as you take off your Totes
and you ask me to make you some Five-Minute Oats.
"I made 'em already to warm up your cockles
the seat of your heart and without the debacles
I sensed that the cold rain would stir the desire
so I whipped up a batch and rekindled the fire".
And inspite of my rambling it seems rather clear
that Five-Minute Oats can mean something more dear
it's that person who waits in your kitchen above
stirring Five Minute oats into passionate love.
-Gina Morrone
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 3:20 AM UTC
Q: Why did Nobel ***** trap his diary
A: He wanted to get more bang for his book
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
Hieroglyphs on my ancient soul
foretell the end of me,
they say I'll die by my own hand
when I’ve reached god status
and every knee has knelt
before me
and I have nothing left
to achieve.
This prophecy has been written
on me for many lives
each ended by a pill,
bullet, or brilliance —
I can feel it.
My fingers are my slaves
who type a pyramid of words
that'll hide my body
in a maze of booby-trapped metaphors
that no thief
would ever dare explore.
So shut me away
with my mummified poetry
so the gods in the next life
will worship me.
Let me hold the empty orange bottle
like a rosary in chalky hands
folded stiff
into forced prayer.
Let me rot away
and be forgotten
while my poetic pyramids
stand for thousands of years
in the sun.
Let tourists stand under their shadows
in awe
while my bones turn slowly
to dust
somewhere deep in the chambers
of their brilliance.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
Dinosaur bones, discovered under an overturned rock. Dust-covered and forgotten photos in the attic. The rug pulled out from under us. Highway patrol of a distant creature. I woke up on the wrong side of a very terrible generation. Just when I thought all was good, it wasn’t. Giant ego ruined their reputation. Lost on the beaten path. My faith smells like ***** dishes. Heroes come and go; villains will always be. Dramatization of the fire. It’s up, up and away with a feeling of mutilated pasts. A young woman in a bad man’s dream. Keep a cool head while we enter the jungle. Booby-trapped instincts. This plan was doomed from the start. Let’s go back while we still have two of our appendages. The dog stares at the door, waiting for a Drunk. We both drink, but we’re not arrogant ****** The love I have for a friend of true nature. What’s that in the shadow of the empire? A rebellion. Smoke out the rat. The back door is a fire lane. A simply-put puzzle. Razorblade Cake-Mix. The sound scared the children. Candy from a stranger, candy from a friend, both will likely **** you in the terms of very end. I’ll stand on the first fallen soldier. He doesn’t know me in the meantime. A happy face for all those once told to forget it. My dignity in a department store lost-and-found. Jump for joy, parade for unemployed. A long line of henchmen waiting to be sidekicks. Watch where your education gets you when us dropouts change our pace. You’re better than no one, we’re better than no one, but we faced the facts about this a long time ago. Convincing isn’t working. A dark hole in the bottom of the bird-feeder. No more nourishment for your ill-advised brain.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 6:17 PM UTC
My heart is dead
no, I don’t have one at all
every time I start to feel something
my mind constructs a new wall
No one can break through it
but so many have tried
and the closest voyager
may nearly have died
Poison soaks the bricks
like a rabid dog’s mouth
the uncontrollable leaking
kills many without a sound
If they passes the wall
and do not fall ill in return
the next obstacle will surely
end with them burned
A 10ft wall of flames
threatens those near with claws
reaching closer and closer
and scorching them raw
If those flames were extinguished
for a split second of distraction
they could trek one step closer
to the main attraction
After poison and flames
fail to protect my castle
the final test must work
to prevent total disaster
Cerulean seas splash against wood
and spans across the land like a highway
within the depths of the waters
lie the souls of the wounded that can’t fly away
Bones and shattered hearts
line the base of my security
with a step into the water
the next will be history
And yet only one has
made it to the center
Only one lover
could truly understand the endeavor
But, alas, as expected
she perished as well
A ***** trap triggered suddenly
launched her far out of my hell
So here I sit
Upon my throne
Safe from my feelings
But all alone
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 2:49 PM UTC
I know this sounds like a soliloquy,
But why did bulldust men find me?
God made Ratlotto sardonically,
Life's ***** prizes always find me,
Now 70 years old is the new young,
O God of funster fun,
Is it them or me?
Yes indeed, my soliloquy,
Is it them or doormat me?
Whinging is fun for us,
No one's listening to this fuss,
Dear God of Ratlotto ***** prizes,
Any more masculine surprises?
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 2:15 AM UTC
Pacing the floor in the middle of this
watching the kettle 'til steam starts to hiss
A strange fascination we have with the bliss
with nothing behind us but one heated kiss.
Underneath an umbrella I stand in the rain
and wait on the platform for the six o'clock train
well you never quite hold me and I rarely complain
and soaked with frustration I walk home again.
We bid for each other in some Chinese auction
and you got the ***** one mixed up concoction
we checked out our prizes at a much closer range
What were we thinking and can we exchange?
And without any memories to dry up the tears
we long for the fire and the comfort of years
but it's just one more lesson, a good one we learned.
the slow-cooker is better and we're less often burned.
And then as I ponder you come in the door
I smile at your tired eyes and looking for more
I stir up the *** as you take off your Totes
and you ask me to make you some Five-Minute Oats.
"I made 'em already to warm up your cockles
the seat of your heart and without the debacles
I sensed that the cold rain would stir the desire
so I whipped up a batch and rekindled the fire".
And inspite of my rambling it seems rather clear
that Five-Minute Oats can mean something more dear
it's that person who waits in your kitchen above
stirring Five Minute oats into passionate love.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 10:11 AM UTC
Here you are!
Las Vegas bound!
Got your dollars
by the pound!
Looking 'round at
all the sights!
The big Casinos!
Pretty lights!
You are here
for three big nights...
You and the wife
take in a show!
Gotta do that
don'tcha know
Then the liquor
starts to flow
The quarter slots
and off you go...
WOW! You WON!
$800 bucks!
You just can't
believe your luck!
You're hi-rollin'!
That's no lie!
Friend, you won the
***** PRIZE.*
Off you go to the
Blackjack table
You play as long
as you are able
Start to lose.
Become unstable
Win in Vegas?
That's a fable...
You begin to
lose your mind
You lose more money
Than you find
Gambling
becomes a grind
You are really
in a bind
Sin City's really
so unkind...
Table to table
You're on the hop
You're all over
on the shop
Buying chips with
money you ain't got
Your wife is
begging you to stop...
Back at the slots
where you began
Don't know day from night
my friend
You drop the dollars
You're 'round the bend
You spent money
your friends lend
Finally you're
at the end...
Here you are
upon the stool
You didn't play
by you're own rules
Don't bank the house
and be a tool
But here you sit
Just like a fool...
Now you're singin'
the sad song
You spent it all
you're in the wrong
Vegas knew it all along
Your wife has left
your money's gone...
Open pocket
out it slips
You fell for
the dealer's quips
The dreams of riches
from their lips
You fell for
the gambling whips
*now you gotta
EAT THOSE CHIPS.*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/7/2016
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
I DON'T know how he came,
shambling, dark, and strong.
He stood in the city and told men:
My people are fools, my people are young and strong, my people must learn, my people are terrible workers and fighters.
Always he kept on asking: Where did that blood come from?
They said: You for the fool killer, you for the ***** hatch and a necktie party.
They hauled him into jail.
They sneered at him and spit on him,
And he wrecked their jails,
Singing, "God **** your jails,"
And when he was most in jail
Crummy among the crazy in the dark
Then he was most of all out of jail
Shambling, dark, and strong,
Always asking: Where did that blood come from?
They laid hands on him
And the fool killers had a laugh
And the necktie party was a go, by God.
They laid hands on him and he was a goner.
They hammered him to pieces and he stood up.
They buried him and he walked out of the grave, by God,
Asking again: Where did that blood come from?
1.7k
It aint the same everwhere
I know it took a man
To stand and stare
Down them gallows
In Zebullon county square
Lil Mae
age of 21
saw her man with another
moaned
"I'm gonna make you pay"
now some of you wanna say
"Lil Mae get a gun make that man pay"
To mad to see
to hurt to care
Lil Mae stormed her way down to
Zebullon county square.
Bobby Lee wasn't a simple man
to proud to be dumb
could read and write
Yet he never let no one know
Bobby Lee workin late
bumped into a drunk,
back on that old alley
Bobby Lee took a beating by four whites
the blood poured out into the streetlight
Soon enough the sheriff came a runnin
"whats the matter here!!"
white men shouted
"the boy had it coming, he took my money
try to **** me, sheriff I had to do something!!"
12 days later 12 men had a shine
sentenced ***** Lee to hang
Saturday morning half past nine
sun be coming up behind him
so his shadow
would grow tall on that line.
Sun rose cool that day
Folks lined up to watch Ol
Bobby Lee pay.
Soon they all began to scatter
preacher man shouted
'"whats a matta"
Lil Mae had come with blade readied
for her last stand
"Preacher man" Lil Mae shouted
"you goin to hell, no doubt about it"
"Im gonna send you there by my hand."
silver plated blade glistened in the sky
"lord my soul , dont let me die!"
Blood sank from the preachers throat
Lil Mae watched til his last choke
Crowd screamed "NO!!" but it fell on Gods deaf ears
"Lil Mae" came her mans voice
"why you do it?"
She reckoned "I had no choice"
"I love you but you put me to it.
you and this preacher man ripped me apart."
Lil Mae's man stood in the middle of the square
tears draining life, sobs stealing air......
Bobby Lee innocent as he was
unwrapped his noose
and slowly walked away
Lil Mae stood her ground on them gallows
but it gave way
half pass nine
she fell in line
the sun made her shadow tall
dead before her body
went through the gallows fall
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
Strong
Is the way you
Crawl through life's
barbed wires,
***** traps,
And barricades
And coming out still standing up after everything,
Still going.
Strong is withstanding
The harshest sand wind,
Letting the grains smother you,
Try to take you down,
But you still stand.
Strong is fighting for what is right,
Being able to know when you need to step in,
Realizing one's mistakes,
Fixing.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 11:34 PM UTC
Crazy things we didn’t know were there
Without an X to mark its spot,
We shoveled and we dug over our bodies
We pillaged acres of skin, ravished even,
Our flesh fueled by the promise of glowing treasure
Wielding shovels and picks only our better natured angels
Understood, or could call “sweet intentions”
No map we possessed ended in gold
So we drew up our own tracing mountains and streams,
Upturning every rock, wading in every pool,
Our made-up languages became passcodes for secret doors
Our hair and nails became booby-traps
Like poisonous ivy and razor sharp spikes.
Perilous our hunt for heirloom, we would find.
But how could we not look?
Our compass points Northeast from down here
So as I climb towards your chest and you to mine
Our knocking proved there were unhallowed
Cavities under ribbed-caged bodies
And still we dig
Closer and closer to the treasure in our chests.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
Is this going to be another joke-
A shiny nickel welded to the floor
So when I bend to pick it up
A paddle whacks me from behind.
Will this turn out to be a whoopee cushion
Hidden underneath my chair
So when I proudly take my seat
The room erupts in cruel laughter.
Will I put forth a major effort,
Break my back and heart in trying,
Only to find the load’s too heavy
For me to ever hope to lift it,
Too complicated to untangle,
Too precise for my small skills,
A recipe for certain failure
If I dare to take that step.
Doubts and fears are ***** traps
That I must circumvent to win
And if I find that I can do it
I can be the hero of my life.
ljm
Aug 17, 2019
Aug 17, 2019 at 7:19 AM UTC
Where have the great games
of childhood gone?
Father and son
tossing the grenade
Little sister skipping
over ***** traps
Somehow, someway
we reached a cease fire
in the "eleventh hour
of the eleventh day
of the eleventh month"
Not sure which of us
was gaslighted
in the eerie orange
of shoreline blood
and the unsettled darkness
"You were right, I was wrong."
read the treatise
Somewhere, someway
an airplane missing
for nearly a century
descends from the clouds
and touches down
in an empty field
The fallen souls
of weaponry
unload on the tarmac
Let the games begin...
Jun 13, 2020
Jun 13, 2020 at 11:16 PM UTC
Remember when I saw the good in life?
Remember when I saw through the haze?
Remember when I hated sitting idly for days?
Those times are over. Done.
All I want to do is float, coast
Painless, without feeling
Numb is fine
Numb is safe
Numbness is mine
To have and to hold
Always reliable and guaranteed
Never let me down, no need
I can’t explain it.
A dream deferred:
Forced to observe,
Live vicariously through people
For the rest of my life.
Watch, facilitate, no thanks.
What can you do in life
If you can’t do all that you’ve dreamed?
Sit and swallow it?
Try to believe?
I’m just coasting through,
Trying to find my way,
But my way is filled with potholes,
***** traps, and rattlesnakes.
Doesn’t my head realize-
It’s my heart that’s at stake?
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 1:01 AM UTC
Defined:
implementation
demonstrated by achievement
intellectual talent
measured by achievement
measured by who?
in essence someone less qualified
has been given the task
to determine if you're more qualified than them
a thought process inherent with ***** traps
a person-to person mine field
where you go in like a soldier in war
every situation is blind
but yeah,
I'm loaded with meritocracy
why not?
I'll make up other words that sound good if you like.
it will show implementation
demonstrated by achievement
intellectual talent
followed by achievement
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
It is copyright © Leonard Cohen 2006 and Jacket magazine 2007.
Takanawa Prince Hotel Bar
Slipping down into the Pure Land
into the Awakened State of Drunk
into the furnance blue Heart of the
one one one true Allah the Beloved
Companion of Dangerous Moods–
Slipping down into the 27 Hells
of my own religion my own sweet
dark religion of drunk religion
my bended knee of Poetry my robes
my bowl my scourge of Poetry
my final circumcision after
the circumcision of the flesh
and the circumcision of the heart
and the circumcision of the yearning
to Return to be Redeemed
to be Washed to be Forgiven Again
the Final Circumcision the Final
and Great Circumcision–
Broken down awhile
and cowarding
in the blasting rays
of Hideous Enlightenment
but now finally surrendered to the Great
Resignation of Poetry
and not the kind of Wise Experience
or the false kisses of Competitive
Insight, but my own sweet dark
religion of Poetry my ***** prize
my sandals and my shameful prayer
my invisible Mexican candle
my useless oils to clean the house
and remove my rival’s spell
on my girlfriend’s memory–
O Poetry my Final Circumcision:
All the pain was in fearing
and ignoring the girl’s voice
and the girl’s touch and the girl’s
fragrant humbling girlishness
which was lost three wars ago–
And O my love I love you again
I am your dog your cat
your Cleopatran snake
I am bleeding painlessly
from the Final Formless Circumcision
as I push up your dress a little way
and kiss your miraculously
lactating knee
And may all of you who watch
and G-d forbid!
are in a suffering predicament
as I go sliding down to Love–
may you speedily be embraced by
the girlishness of your own
dark girlish religion
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 12:46 PM UTC
People keep telling me I have a sense of humor.
I look around and wonder what drugs they are taking.
If this is funny to you, please get in the line on the left,
you will get a ***** prize.
If I am boring you, go shoot yourself now, as this is downhill from here.
And speaking of boredom, I read a quote the other day
that said that boredom is rage spread thin.
I've never really thought of boredom as something soft
and creamy to go on toast, but I can see it happening.
To the waitress at Jim's: Yes, I'll have the eggs over easy,
and wheat toast, boredom on the side, please.
I'm trying this next time. She will probably give me that look
that reminds me I am from a different planet. I need this sort
of thing in my life.
nanu nanu
Jan 11, 2012
Jan 11, 2012 at 9:13 PM UTC