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The Shoutbox
"She" is my reason for getting up in the morning, and while so far away my reason for crying, I reckon.
"So let's all drink to the death of a clown
won't someone help me to break up this frown?...
"So let's all drink to the death of a clown
won't someone help me to break up this frown?...
I'm afraid to ask who "she" is.
And there ain't nothin' natural about the Mashed Potata'. Not a damn thing.
And there ain't nothin' natural about the Mashed Potata'. Not a damn thing.
There're always those pesky sexual harassment suits. I say, if you're gonna wave your soft and wooly ass in my direction, waver beware.
Don't know if that'll hold up in court, but I insist they were "asking for it". Maybe not a legal position, but a practical one. If the judge gets one look at these sex-aay sheep, I'll be acquitted. Asking for it, I swear.
How disgustingly male of me.
Really, I swear if she'd pick up the phone, I could spare you good folks (and the rest of you too)...and turn off The Kinks.
Don't know if that'll hold up in court, but I insist they were "asking for it". Maybe not a legal position, but a practical one. If the judge gets one look at these sex-aay sheep, I'll be acquitted. Asking for it, I swear.
How disgustingly male of me.
Really, I swear if she'd pick up the phone, I could spare you good folks (and the rest of you too)...and turn off The Kinks.
I remember sobernness. It's overrated.
I'cve staerted anew trradition of drinking at work. Began as a weekend ritual, and has expanded into a three-day-a-week exercise. It does make the days fly by faster, in a fashion. Of course, the last job I did this for I wound up being "fired". Not for drinking, exactly, but for a kind of obsternate insubordination. Must be the passive-aggressive confrontational cuss inside me.
Fu*k 'em, that's what I say.
And you can quote me on that.
(and if she picked-up the phone, I wouldn't have to bother the shoutbox with such ramblings)
Really, it's true...
*double URP*
I'cve staerted anew trradition of drinking at work. Began as a weekend ritual, and has expanded into a three-day-a-week exercise. It does make the days fly by faster, in a fashion. Of course, the last job I did this for I wound up being "fired". Not for drinking, exactly, but for a kind of obsternate insubordination. Must be the passive-aggressive confrontational cuss inside me.
Fu*k 'em, that's what I say.
And you can quote me on that.
(and if she picked-up the phone, I wouldn't have to bother the shoutbox with such ramblings)
Really, it's true...
*double URP*