"corvette" poems
If you haven’t noticed this town is a very small place,
And it makes me wonder about the type of people that live here.
Now there is diversity of origin with every kind of race,
But there’s a type of race that is starting to disappear.
That race is an economic one called the working class,
It is heavily getting replaced by what we normal folk call the wealthy.
These people drive their shiny Mercedes like their whole life was a free pass,
And they flaunt their money around to the point where it’s unhealthy.
They buy their cookie cutter mansions up like they’re buying Taco Bell,
Spending a million dollars on a house for four surely isn’t ridiculous.
And maybe it wouldn’t be if the other 99% of America could do it as well,
But we have a lack of money that makes us a bit more meticulous.
We aren’t able to buy a new house or a new car just because we want to,
And we sure as hell can’t afford a Porsche or a Corvette.
Unlike you we have our sad little low paying jobs to do,
Yes, I’m totally sure sitting in your office chair really makes you break a sweat.
But the worst part of it all is these rich people will have a daughter or a son!
And they’re gonna grow up to be just like their mother and father.
It’ll be like watching a reality tv show rerun,
They’ll be wasting the same money and being the same bother.
My children will be working just to buy enough gas for their car,
While these kids will ask mommy or daddy for a new watch or phone.
But I guarantee you the working class kids will go twice as far,
As the little rich kids who will grow up always expecting a loan.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 6:30 AM UTC
sitting in your corvette
bass boosted songs
and friday sunlight reflecting
off crisp puddles from yesterday
you hit the gas
and my hair goes straight
to the roof
feels like i’m trapped in
a fish bowl, sports cars
easy to get in
but impossible to get out
maybe that’s your plan
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 5:21 PM UTC
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want to get hit by a Mercedes.
I want to get run over by a Porsche.
Something big.
I want to get smeared against the pavement
by a Cadillac Escalade.
I want to get hit by one of those big ********
who drag gasoline across the continent,
but I want the driver to be a manic psychopath.
I want him to stalk me on the sidewalk
and then run me over slowly.
He's not any coward, not like those bald patriarchal
Corvette drivers in polo shirts tucked into khakis.
No, he's a great fat man, a hairy beast with
a crooked stare that slows the pulse on impact.
I want the police to cringe or get scared interrogating him,
and haul his truck somewhere to be inspected.
I want the price of gas in nearby areas to go up
by at least fifteen cents for two weeks.
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want to roll over the windshield,
and drag under the bottom for about ten yards.
I want to separate at the middle and leave organs on his
left side view mirror and hanging on his hood ornament.
I want to seep blood deep into his car,
and when he turns on his heat,
he'll smell my blood full blast in his face
burning.
I want to wreck the car inside and out.
I want to get hit by a car with a McCain sticker on the bumper.
I don't want to get hit by some middle class Ford or Honda,
or someone's shit-level Chevy or beat up jalopy.
I want to get hit by a BMW.
I want the driver to make his tires scream like banshees,
and leave four long streaks of rotten burned rubber on the asphalt.
I want him to step out in business attire, and gasp, inwardly.
I want to flip off the sky, because my aim is bad,
and call him a coward for hitting the brakes.
I want him to think,
"What did I do?
Is he Okay?
What am I going to do?
What if I lose my license?
How will I get to work?
How will I pay for this.
Does my insurance cover
vehicular manslaughter?
I'm not alone right?
I'll get through this.
I'll survive.
I'll just be another statistic.
That's all."
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
The Christmas rush has started, and the countdown has begun
Advent doors are opened, but look what you have done
You've ridiculed the Bounty bar, and your spoiling all the fun
Why buy a Celebration, if your not happy after one ?
What's behind the cardboard doors, what did you all expect
A gold ring perhaps, or the keys for a corvette?
Why bother with an advent, when you have no respect
There's no need for chocolate genocide, or coconut neglect
You shouldn't be so outraged, with your Christmas Celebrations
I don't understand the malice, or the advent hesitations
If you don't want a bounty, buy heroes or sensations
It's hardly a matter for Interpol, or the united nations
Celebrations are your choice, there's no cause for your regret
The outcome is quite obvious, why are you so upset
Are the pictures not a clue, to what your gonna get ?
No rarity of Bounty hunters, so don't mess with Boba Fett
Are Maltesers that much lighter, in a Galaxy far away
Maybe you will find Mars, in between the Milky Way
A Twix or Galaxy Caramel, they we're for a different day
But you've dissed your celebrations, and no longer want to play
Some YouTube clips have surfaced, and I have read the blogs
I think it's just pathetic, seeing chocolate thrown down bogs
Your creating your own misery, as well as yule time logs
You won't be very happy, when your toilet blocks and clogs
On day two you still complained, and you wanted to resist
Is that because the chocolate, was not on your Christmas list
Would you be pleased with mistletoe, if you never did get kissed
Christmas spirit has been lost, with your Snickers in a twist
Some people are just morons, that's the message that they've sent
Their expectations are to high, and cruel jokes are never meant
Why is Bounty not as good, to start of an event
A Snickers in your calendar, doesn't mean a ruined advent
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 1:58 PM UTC
She always burned her
Barbie dolls after she cut
All the hair of that plastic,
Magic perfect blonde ****
She was 11 and had just
Always hated how all
Her family and friends kept
On giving her a doll
That was perfect and had all
And she just couldn't see
The relevance and the elephant
In the room is insecurity
So at 11 she Cant see what she is
but what she is not
her imperfections made her check
If Barbies got what she got
But Barbie did not barbies
perky with both ***** and ****
Her legs don't grow hair
And she don't need cover up
And her short legs look
Nothing like barbies do
Even her *** and
Thighs are all proportioned too
Fit her spectacular body's frame
that frames her reflexion
with the blame to detain
what remained as complexion
Of her oily pimpled skin that
Is too fair and needs a tan
And living up to all that not to
Mention a corvette and a man
That's why Barbie hangs across
Her closet where her mom
Saw the Barbie dolls She hung
by the neck yelling what's wrong
butShe just masks how she
felt so a head doctor was
a psychiatrist who sighed
A bit but had sided with her cause
She was an ugly duckling herself
That Never grew to be pretty
But the city has no pitty for no
Pretty so best you be witty
And told her to keep with the
hate she now held for Barbie
and before She left the doctor said
**** a corvette get a Ferrari
So She left happy but hardly
Cured of her obsession
Over beauty and style,
With a classy shoe collection
But she is now only 11
And reassures herself that she
Is no barbie and would repeat
barbies not prettier than me, and
Til she believes it she still burns them
To hang them soar
Shows a mirror to the bald barbie so
She knows she's not pretty no more
See what its like to feel too short
as She cuts at the knee
She says" i can be more
like Barbie if she's more like me"
Wheres obese Barbie,
or Immigrant Barbie from far
Black haired or short haired Barbie
Who's bus pass is her car
How about welfare Barbie or
realistic Barbie anything but
A smooth long haired long legged
Perfect shaped ***** and ****
With Friggin hips child birth was
Not made for and why
She asks Can't barbie have flaws so
I can pause the feeling that I
Will fail before I try if I
Am expected to be
So beautiful and Barbie never talks
No wonder kens easy to please
the message seems look pretty and
Dont talks all u need
So she hangs them violently
but quietly wishing they would bleed
But as she gets older shell
Like herself more and won't dwell
That god didn't make her a Barbie
maybe hes not as good as matel.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 11:20 PM UTC
He tosses in his sleep
He never gets a good night's rest
He tosses in his sleep
He never gets a good night's rest
His mind is tired but can't control what's in his chest
She tosses in her sleep
Dreaming of a better place
She tosses in her sleep
Dreaming of a better place
She gave up looking and now she's got tears on her face
He wears a cigarette
She wears a bayonet
He drives a beater and she drives a swift Corvette
He's not a cheater and she's one he won't forget
He's got a plan
But doesn't know how to start
He's got a plan
But doesn't know how to start
He's too young to understand the language of his heart
She's got a picture
But hasn't developed it yet
She's got a picture
But hasn't developed it yet
All she sees is a silent silhouette
He wears a cigarette
She wears a bayonet
He drives a beater and she drives a swift Corvette
He's not a cheater and she's one he won't forget
He wrote his name and number
On the missionary of his hotel
He wrote his name and number
On the missionary of his hotel
As he laid it down he felt his heart begin to swell
She called him up
And they talked over a drink or two
She called him up
And they talked over a drink or two
Now all their reservations are made for two
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 1:11 AM UTC
The formulae for well being
is found in those memories,
a preparedness to unearth
yesterday's yearbooks;
which releases those far flung controls of analogue,
resurrecting belt driven
record players
to play Starbuck and Brothers Johnson
reviving '76,
mentally speeding on pristine motorways,
buzzing by on a chevy corvette
humming to the suggestive "Afternoon Delight"
vying with your Radio's antenna.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 7:05 AM UTC
Then he said we should
just nuke
the entire Middle East.
**** 'em!
(What’s a little radiation?),
so he could afford to
drive his ******* Corvette”
down the shore
on his Summer vacation.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
My childhood bicycle
was like a Cadillac
with fins and gizmos
but my brother suggested
we strip it down.
My brother tried
to fix a red corvette
in our family's garage.
The computer has replaced
my childhood bicycle
with its journeys
to cyberspace.
The 5 year old car
of my mother's
which I drive
is orange and waits
in our family's garage.
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 9:12 AM UTC
On our knees, working the naked Ken
to mount the clueless Barbie, making
them moan, screaming, "O! O! O! O!"
Dumb toothsome puppets, self-satisfied,
bubble gum Corvette, her small *** huge knockers,
and nothing proven or dared, solving
bodies unlike those we pushed so hard against —
me and my Easy Bake, you and your erector set.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 2:16 AM UTC
i sweat and sweat and sweat and sweat
my under arms are always wet
basting myself in my own vinaigrette
i’ll never be the cool guy in the corvette
blasting his tunes with an old school cassette
with a blonde on his right and in the back a brunette
i’ll always be this soggy piglet
you’d think i could just shower and then i’d be set
but NO! don’t you see these pits are a leaky faucet
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 4:46 PM UTC
.
Seems that I'm spending
most of my time down at the Karaoke King.
Under more normal circumstances
I wouldn't even say a thing.(But...)
I need to invest some more time in me
or I'll never become a star,
because I've sunk a pretty penny
just pimpin' out my car.
And this Mississippi mud
is even bogging down my truck,
and if I don't keep it rockin'
I may never get unstuck.
Success always comes from hard, hard work
it never comes to you from afar.
Would you please remind me tonight
to change the strings on my air guitar?
And I've been too tired to dance
with my own silhouette.
I just want a house out in the country,
and a brand new black Corvette.
My future's slowly rising,
it shouldn't take me long.
You see, this stage has been my home
and this here's my new song!
I need to invest some more time in me
or I'll never become a star,
because I've sunk a pretty penny
just pimpin' out my car.
And this Mississippi mud
is even boggin' down my truck,
and if I don't keep it rockin'
I may never get unstuck.
Wont you help me,
please; won't you help me?
Because I want to be a star.
Just do me a favor and remind me tonight
to change the strings on my air guitar.
Please do me a favor and remind me tonight...
to change the strings on my air guitar.
.
Feb 21, 2010
Feb 21, 2010 at 9:46 PM UTC
The fairground music played, under the palm trees
And the beggar running around having himself some fun
The sweet song serenade, it was our song to take
So we took it and we begun
Under the shadow of, the ancient Ferris wheel
Where teenage lovers locked lips and hands held tight
I hear the screaming of young love in the summer
Screaming promise you’ll always stay by my side
The gypsy danced, she was just magic
Then she fell to her knees
Her crimson dress, laced with yellow ribbon
Just a penny, for your thoughts if you will please
I see the magic, of the fairground, I see the lost lovers waiting to be found
I feel the passion of those soft kisses, and the fear of the old state ghost train in the fair ground
Maria came to me, I’d seen her in my dreams, her voice, was never what I thought
Let’s just stay right here, under the Ferris wheel and catch those lovers as they fall
We took a ride, through the house of mirrors and as I thought life’s never as it seems
Maria sang to me, her tongue tasted sweet, from the dungeons I hear the children scream
We took a walk, over the sandy streets, where the grains and the earth stuck to our feet
The boys in denim vests, shaved chests, I see the way they look at you Maria
I don't have the looks, but i can look at you with more passion than they do
I grab you by the hand, we run into the shadows of the travelers burlesque ball room
i saw Samantha in her, black laced corset, Little jimmy outside blasting music from his newly polished corvette
I see the way the other women look at me dear, but i'm just tasting paradise with Maria
I’m smiling, you were laughing, your teeth as white as the stars in the sky
Your sweet voice laying over the fairground song, was sweet enough to make a man cry
The juggler and hot dog stands, sit on the arid land, the rust gathers over the roller coaster
Me and Maria I think my dear we could just walk hand in hand through the fairground forever
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
The pink Corvette - driving madam |
in Jackie O shades & pink pillbox
hat getting photographed
pulling up to the townhouse
for the Page
Six pin-up : : her girls from
the Midwest, trained & groomed,
crowned & titled; every one
wearing their own diamond tiara;
only the best of the best dolls, dames &
dishes get served
[working
girls] work Barbie's Dream Brothel; bouffant & hoop earrings
& a silver slit skirt;
timelessly retro (the one sixteen,
the other fourteen)
where the hell do u think u're going - -]
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
once a collage
hung on a wide white wall
with monochrome photos of
all creatures great and small
Dali juxtaposed with Doris Day,
LBJ atop JFK, and Joe DiMaggio,
grinning Frankenstein and frowning
Frank Sinatra, not far below
Hemingway, Groucho Marx, Marlon Brando
occupying three of four corners, the bottom right
a curious cat, in stretched repose
dead center, a cracked crucifix
and four Beatles all, Paul the biggest
with the cross crowning his frame
a Corvette,
and Stalin in his tomb
were also given ample room,
on this black and white piece of art
as were ****** Cleaver, with cap,
Jimi Hendrix with axe
another three score
and a couple more, completed
this cacophony of sight, but absent
were J. Bieber, Beyonce, any of the Simpsons
of Fox fame, revealing the artist of this gray masterpiece
was blissfully blind to cyber sacrilege,
Steve Job’s toys, and the lost soul
of Lindsey Lohan
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
At midnight, out on the cobblestones
There’s the sound of rolling wheels,
And a shadow cast on a window pane
From the road outside, it steals,
A wagon, black in its livery,
And pulled by a single horse,
As black as the heart of the man that steers,
Whipped up from the watercourse.
From down in a tiny inlet, deep
Enough for a man of war,
A French corvette is lying, waiting,
Just metres away from shore,
It carried a cargo of brandy, wine,
And cases full of tea,
Smuggled into the tiny cove
Its goods all duty free.
Now it’s waiting upon the tide
To turn the ship around,
Its cargo gone in the wagon now,
Headed for higher ground,
And then the galloping hoofbeats echo
Over the cobblestones,
The crack of a couple of pistols and
The air is filled with groans.
The horse breaks free of its halter and
The wagon rolls back down,
It’s shadow passing my window pane
A second time around,
It rolls back into the harbour while
I hear the boom of guns,
Firing from the French Corvette
As it hoists its sail, and runs.
Once a year on the fifth of June
And late into the night,
Whenever the moon is lying low
And casting down its light,
I see the shadows and hear the sounds
From that deadly time of yore,
As the ghostly French Corvette departs
And sails from the ghostly shore.
And glistening out on the cobblestones
There’s a dampness, looks like mud,
That dissipates in an hour or two,
A pool of the smuggler’s blood,
I dare not go to the window, look,
Or even open the door,
In case I’m carried away by them
From two hundred years before.
David Lewis Paget
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 1:51 AM UTC
I want to be the girl they sing about
I want to be the one that "gets around"
I'd like to be the doorknob turned
I'd like to be "she never learns"
Breaking boys' poor little hearts
Teach me how and I'll play the part
Instead of the one who falls for the guy
Left all alone in her bedroom to cry
Tired of being
Miss Always gets hurt
I want to leave them first
I want to to be
The One you can't trust
Leave them all in the dust
The One who "got away"
The One who never stays in one place
I want my own trophy shelf
I'd like to be
The Girl with notches on her belt
I want to be
**That *****
The One you fell in love with
The little red corvette
The poison
Your regret
The One who makes you feel sick
Who doesn't give a ****
The One who's keepin' score
Who never likes them more
The One all the girls hate
The Girl who plays mind games
The One who "has it all"
The Girl who watches them fall
The Spider
trapping you in a web
The Witch
placing curses, wishing you unwell
**I'm so furious
*if looks could ****
I'd watch your blood spill
The girls boys choose
while I continuously lose**
I want to play the tricks
while you obey my every whim
Instead of being me
Miss Always Lonely
The Girl who leaves you
broken hearted
with a dismiss kiss
and
could care less you two parted
Instead of Miss Last Pick
Instead of The 19 year old ******
Instead of The Girl they'd all just love to ****
Instead of "great ****
Instead of "nice ***
Instead of The One you want to lay
Instead "never a relationship"
Instead of "hey, hot girl, let's play"
Instead of the body
Instead of too smart
Instead of too talkative
and weird
Instead of the feminist
Instead "Miss Morals"
Instead of 'What a *****
Instead of a novelty
Instead of the rarity
Instead of past tense
When made fun of in elementary
and middle school
I used to wish and hope
I could be Miss Hot
Miss Thousand Watts
And now...
I have nothing else but...
I want to beautiful too...
not just an *** and *****
They don't want to talk
They just want to ****
So I blow them off
Only one boyfriend
where all I did was bend
and too many "I hardley know you"
drunken make outs
with too many doubts
Only One love
and he broke my heart...
The boyfriend
The love
were two different people
With the first I tried..
With the Second I cried
4 years of wasted time
They say I'm "too hard to figure out"
I'm "too hard to sleep with"
too much this
too much that
So maybe if I change
I can be Miss Perfect
In the end...
I just want to be loved...
everyone does.
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 4:56 AM UTC
Yeah I like plants now..
I notice other peoples plants in their yard and find myself asking them one evening " what kind of plant is that?" The conversation carries on and we talk about things I never cared about. Turns out, The things I don't care about are a lot more intersting than the things I do.. I decide to grow some roses in my front yard and they bloom in the spring and sometimes in the fall. Turns out I have what they call a green thumb.. I have the most beautiful roses in town.. I find myself driving a lot slower. Even when im in my Corvette.. I drive slow hoping this ride will last forever.. I use to drive fast everywhere.. But driving slow gets you there better.. Even if there is no place at all.. I find myself going to small towns more.. Just passing through makes my soul feel better.. Sometimes I stop and walk some random sidewalk.. Under the sun in some small town I have never been to. So don't be scared to grow a plant, don't be scared to slow down, and don't be scared to go to a random small town.. Life is to fast.. Theres no need to try and get ahead of it.. Just ride with it and see a lot more even if your in one place..
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC
I’ve been sitting here for weeks,
and this is the first time you’ve noticed me?
Do you think I like being under this teacup?
I’m terrified; it’s dark and cold.
You’re out at your party,
and all I can think about is my wife,
all alone on the web back home just waiting for something, anything, to fly by.
It’s all a joke to you though, you sick man.
And would you believe that I climbed into a man’s suit,
got on a plane, flew all the way from Europe,
and lived with Johnny Depp for a while?
No, no you wouldn’t—
you work at NASA,
you drive a corvette,
you are dating the Aphrodite of your age
and it’s all not enough.
So let me tell you about me:
I’m not like you or him or anyone else here.
I don’t own shiny medals or have my own talk show,
I’m just looking for a chip in a cup,
some little imperfection that will set me free.
I’ve been thinking how I like
smooth jazz
poptarts
gushers
wheat thins.
I have hundreds of kids I’ve never met,
and a home in your bedroom window.
But none of that matters anymore
because I’m trapped under this ridiculous cup
and it’s dark, and I’m cold.
I’m beginning to think I should just give up.
Aug 17, 2010
Aug 17, 2010 at 4:00 PM UTC
The girl with the leather jacket
And the leather high-high heels
Wearing a black tube top
And skimpy shorts.
Hair; blonde, shiny wild locks
Face painted gorgeous,
Luscious red lips
Scream.
Skin sun-kissed.
Holding her flask
In the right hand
Filled to the brim
With Jack Daniel’s whiskey.
Pockets filled with cigarettes
And marijuana joints.
She takes a cigarette out,
holds it to her lips.
Leaning on a black corvette
Ignites her death.
Inhale, exhale
Bad.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
Blonde in a red Corvette, free as a bird
Me, just a child, staring at her
Remember thinking, that's where I'm gonna be
In a red Corvette, at 33
No kids, no baggage, not even a dog
Stomp on the gas, and simply take off
No limits, no signs, just a juicy sunset
The wind in my hair, not an ounce of regret
She never saw me, but I'll never forget
The phoenix who flew past me in a red Corvette
Oct 22, 2021
Oct 22, 2021 at 3:39 PM UTC
Hekyl and Jyde
Dr Hekyll was a strange old sort
dabbled in physics and reform of tort
took things serious as a heart attack
never smiled much hardly ever a crack
he worked every day from dawn to dusk
research from rhino horn to sweet corn husk
when he sipped on his brew stumbling in a haze
colors flashing everywhere fell into a daze
his hair bouffant and his collar flipped
behind the wheel of his corvette he slipped
checking his pretty face in the rear view mirror
Yes he was cool Mr Jyde couldn't get any clearer
down to the nite clubs he would saunter in
order himself a tall boy of tonic and gin
the ladies would flock all seeking his attention
checking his supply of disaster prevention
by two a.m. his reserves running thin
time to get back to his laboratory again
before his hair and good looks disappeared
they would all get a look at his scraggly beard
as the sun arose he staggered to his feet
dressed in his fancy suit Italian shoes on his feet
rubbed his eyes and in the mirror he winked
threw himself a kiss and never even blinked
yes he was a contrast of demeanor and style
his somber face covering up his smile
back to his dreary life of barely alive
he was Dr. Hekyll and Mr. Jyde
Gomer LePoet....
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC
In the middle of a desert is a booming city
With big bright lights
Stands a man with a key to a corvette
With a black leather coat
And his pack of cigarettes
He stands calm and chill
Ready for anything
He gets on his metallic horse
And rides like the wind
With the stench of burning rubber
10
20
30
50
70
90
110
The man speeds through the night
With the squeal of the tires
On the fresh paved road
On the quiet sandy desert
Outside of the city
Where he rides alone
He is
The Lone Ranger
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 9:51 PM UTC
Today, I gazed upon the future.
Stingrays, Mercedes S-Class, Corvette ZR1....
I couldn't take my eyes off that brand new Vette
I looked at my dad and pointed at that ZR1
I said
That's why I'm in college
I won't quit till I fall out
I won't stop till I'm gone
I don't want to be good
I don't aim to just be better
If I'm gonna do it
I have to be the best
Maybe more
But for sure
For sure
Absolutely nothing less
That's my ZR1
My Z06
I'll take off in that S-Class
How do you say.....
Kompressor
Appetite for Champagne
Budget for beer
No worry
Prospects are already flowing
I'll be the first round draft pick
I still hold the top spot
Highest grade point average
Dead serious
I got this
Heads up
I'm coming for you
Remember those three letters
JMG
You'll see them again
I promise
I am not the same
I'm an alien
I hover over you
Climb in my spaceship
Let's go for a ride
If you dare to understand me
You'll never let go
But dare for a ride
Cause I'm not slowing down
until i find out what that means
I'm not gonna quit til my brain stops tickin
I'm hungry
Starving
I'm gonna plow through this ****
Like Cam Newton through some Gamecocks.....Yeah 56-17
You can try to do something about it
I really hope you do
I'm a soldier
I'm never ever
Going away
I swear to god
You better keep your eyes open
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 5:03 PM UTC