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Ugh, you call it love... I call it a rapid succession of forgettable faces and wet fuck noises in an attempt to make yourself feel better about your damaged condition. It's okay, I realize Seymour hasn't fed you in a while and you're getting a little cranky.
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We gotta talk. You're such fashion toolbag. Your leather man panties just don't look right, bro. I know you're not concerned with such things as you fight your skeletal nemesis, but everybody back at Grayskull is laughing.
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I have internalized the mantra, "Qualification is not expertise." Have you? Obviously not, since you keep referencing how how much money you make, the number of crunches you can do, and how your haircut is slightly better than Paul Allen's.
Last edited by Plan9; 10-18-2010 at 09:47 PM..
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