...you to shatter into a thousand pieces. I'd rather slow life down a little and keep you all together.
I just thought you should know that, before your next swimsuit modeling gig in south France...
You're thinking thoughts again, aren't you?
...you can sing just about anything.
...so, the waitress at the restaurant we were at this week was an english lit major... and apparently hated her boss.
My colleagues and I kept trying to get her to recite poetry for us... so by the end of the night, she wrote this limerick...
There once was a douchebag named Chad
and I'm pretty sure he is a fag.
He has a small dick, and acts like a prick,
and when it comes to getting laid, he's bad.
Had to put it in green... it was an Irish pub.
...and of course. If you want to go to a strip club and request all the dancers have to dance to Phil Collins songs, we can definitely do that.
Anything for you!
Will the sushi still be good on the 9th?
What should go here?
You tell me.
I'm open for suggestions.
Maybe I should ask Cancer to open this part of my journal up to public access!
....who was I kidding?
This is going to get fun!
...and wise poet once wrote...
One does not engage in prose,
they call it poetry.
It seems absurd to use that word
since nothing rhymes with it.
So, I'm going to use this section for my ridiculously bad poetry....
Samples such as...
You are the flower in the meadow,
a scent upon the wind.
Your hair flows like the raven's feathers,
and gently touches my skin.
With you I feel a warmth that I never knew,
until you gave me your heart.
I will cherish it and protect it from all
as I have right from the start.
We'll climb the mountains and fight the fears
that exist between our lives.
And in the ends I hope we'll find
our own bluest skies.
Crappy, I know... but hey.. some of it rhymes well.