I often write to Nelly Furtados who stopped saying it right because promiscuous girls harbor their fair share of spite... and an unfair share of Sprite. When it's dirty why gripe? Can't you feel the love tonight? Amongst lying kings, I chat up queens behind the scenes asking if they rather be a Nala or a balla on live streams, but the answer is never quite what it seems... they're laced between the seams.

I've made up my mind to let whatever's coming try to take me... because there's no double-taking me.

I'm a hurry-up-and-byproduct of artists saying anything just to rhyme so at least the residue of their pointlessness can linger behind.

I prance on ants in a stance of arrogance, because I can't stanza romance... in a trance I dance a lot, like Sir Lancelot, on his way to France or Camelot and I cannot stop.

…I've been accustomed to going into star mode without mushrooms. Even in Super Mario World, I've been extremely hesitant to ask someone to let me love them. I prefer to do it anyway, even if it bugs them.

Apparently, Red Bull gives you politicians, because everyone has government wings that inhibit flight. That’s ironic right?

They say a dirty mind is a hilarious thing to waste, but what do you think?

How much better does it feel when you outperform a man as opposed to a woman? Which is worse to lose to? What if winning was expected, and losing meant you were weaker than the rest of your gender?

…I'm listening to Kodak Black in the back of the pulpit, with a ski-mask and a bunch of irregular movement, ready for all the foolishness. All of it.

Who else is blessed and highly favored with a sauce that’s highly flavored (that drips even when you touch a neighbor)? Let us all say... Amen. Church. Tabernacle.

After being a heathen most of the weekend does it really matter if I pick just one day not to be the Weeknd?

It was probably when destiny danced in my lap of luxury that I realized she wasn't enough for me... it was simply too easy. I'm accustomed to a certain degree difficulty, so I tap out before they give it up to me. That's the gentleman in me. 

My quest to develop a heart for humanity still hasn't found a habitat, but its greatly encouraged by hidden beauty in a webchat.

I can't recall the last time I asked a girl if she liked drugs, but I always remember the ones who don't believe in love.

Fran (seriously) doesn't want a man.

I tell anyone who's disinterested in extra pulp, non -fiction to imagine these words coming from someone they're missing...

Who knows tragedy? I'm talking real agony. I've lived through government shutdowns, Limewires, and losing all my Imeem playlists, so I guess I'm the only one bold enough to say this.