Is about time to return to bars of Makhachkala for winter sabbatic, and bitchhouse is availible, accord to tetka, if we go soon. How is your freakin flower miles?
Okay, I don't know what they're selling, but I ain't buying.
And if I have horrible nightmares, which seems a certainty at this point, you have to come over and give me warm milk and sing me a lullaby.
It's not the crazy mutants, either. I can handle those. Everything was cool until Boy George popped up. Then I started having visions of being chained to a wall while he worked me over with a chain. Yikes. And what the hell is he doing with that pig? Bad business. Very bad business.
