Believe Dat(a)

Long Hair Don't Care. And its not that I'm not talking too quickly, its that you're listening too slowly: I am growing tired of stubbing my toe on the bar of expectations I have of you. Your daughter deserves more, you fucking fraud. And you owe me (yes, me) something in the neighborhood of oh, I don't know, everything you have today? But how about you just act 1% less like a lousy father and we'll call it even.

Its true, I am good at everything, except laundry, deep throating, and fighting back, but I'm just not real sure I'll ever feel real sure of myself. Oh, Criminal, you're my drink-making superhero, saving the day and my faith in love, and when you tell me to come back home, you'll only have to tell me twice. I'm just easy like that, but not like that, except in the most exclusive ways for that self-same singular resident of Intimacy Island and if being an old married couple means that I get so fucking turned on that its like I can't even see out of my eyes, well, then I'm pleased as punch to be such. Time to make a tape.

I never knew an empty wrapping paper tube could be used like that.