My Petunia

Hey if you like to dance, then you should get off the seesaw (but don’t do it quick or else Jesus might fall off, Santa). I’ve been missing everyone lately since they have all my clothes and I’m in Antarctica in a bra and panties. My gold chains aren’t as tasty as they cost. What a jip! Hey what a jerp. Jimp. Junk. I take big bites I can’t help it. I like shirts with pictures of guns on them, so let me in the club or put me on a plane, because THEN THIS ISN’T AMERICA. Don’t burn my flapjacks, samson, just cut MY hair. I mean it’s not like I’ll be a little dog about it. Alright then, meet me where the red fern grows and we’ll make it even more red (with our blood). Man, what a fun carnival and by fun I mean depressing. If there were more than just sixteen teenagers and a dad, I’de probably be able to have fun (but there’s not so I can’t). I can’t wait to become a father because then I think my body will learn how to nap. I hocked a lugie off the side of the titanic and I think it might be an iceberg by now. A tepid locksmith was trying torpidly to break into his own house (for practice) but I think he just ended up smoking Earl Grey tea and watching VHS tapes. God, I really am turning into my mother. Wait, God, are you listening or did you just lose reception on your cell phone?