Don't Know. Won't Know. Don't Know. Won't Know. Don't Know. Won't Know. Don't Know. Won't Know. Don't Know. Won't Know. Don't Know. Won't Know. Don't Know. Won't Know. Don't Know. Won't Know. Don't Know. Won't Know. Don't Know. Won't Know. Don't Know. Won't Know. Don't Know. Won't Know. God Damn. Shit the bed.
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23 Jun 2017
Saan
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Then the X-Files being Looking like some kind of blue-green Jackie Chan With Isabella Rossellini lips, and breath that reeked of Vanilla Chig Champa Did a slow-mo Matrix descent Outta the butt end of the banana vessel And hovered above my bug-eyes, my gaping jaw And my sweaty L. Ron Hubbard upper lip And all I could think was: "I hope Uncle Martin here doesn't notice That I pissed my fuckin' pants."