Something You Should Know About Me
when the pickles of misfortune descend upon your fuzzy lawn, hold them back with blaring reminders of the dance of the greatest pizza, you special bastard.
i don't want to talk to people with elephants tatooed on their face, one eye on the palm of their left hand, puppets who live in garbage cans, any potential future presidential candidates and the people who know them, absolutely NO MOLE PEOPLE, anyone possessing any of the following items; a shirt tales lunchbox, a cheese sculpture of mussolini or a gigantic #47.
apart from the above criteria, if you are pleasant and open-minded, i would be delighted to engage in a whimsical exchange of light dialogue. thank you.
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