March 8, 2011

After a shot of something or other

Sheen's Korner comes to mind.  Carnes' Corner looks and sounds much better.  Torpedoes of truth.  How about the one headed for Sheen's house.  Charles's only you will survive.  You're goddesses will die and so will all of your other fucking dogs. The dealer sneaking in the back, yep he'll go to.  In traction, the assholes at the hospital will release you to rehab. Talk about a craving, I crave that day.  You said you are not two people, the nice guy, and the crazy idiot.  You claimed to be just the crazy idiot, in the limelight, for all of the world to see.  You've morphed into Hyde, and anything that crosses your path you annihilate.  I bet you would like that idea.  It would serve your narcissism.  I hate that I think about you.  I hate that I worry about you.  My brother said your dead.  I say you're still above ground.  You are not smart, creative, a genius, or funny.  Your manic, coming off alcohol and cocaine, and I've seen more interesting shit inside a coffee shop I go to daily.  You bore me, I want to drown you in a toilet, I want to duct tape your mouth shut since the drowning option would send me to prison.  Please, stop polluting the airways, if your going to use, use, if not, do something useful.  Are you afraid of fucking a woman your age who might really know what she's doing?  You're a coward Charles.  Fuck Betty.

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