Sunday, October 15, 2006
SHOULD'VE STUCK WITH THE BARBIE DREAM HOUSE
Wrote a little poem today. Goes something like this:
TRUE HURT
Pretty, pretty new fridge.
You promised to keep my bologna cold.
But you lied. You LIED!
Now I search for your replacement.
Since you died on my kitchen floor.
It's over.
Over.
I take comfort in only one thing.
A Taco Bell Chalupa.
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