Shit, piss, cocksucker,
My mother is a mother fucker.
My Mother Fucking Mother
Labia, labia, get a scabia,
On the planet of tit fucking mania.
Penis in, and penis out
Tell Ben Franklin not to tout that Gout.
Asshole lickers, fruit pickers
Smother my car with bumper stickers.
Obama for President, Obama for Resident
Like black Jesus, Obama’s Heaven-sent!
Got no reasons, got no rhymes,
I’m too busy boning bitches in their hymens.
Dear Boyfriend,
I realize that in recent weeks I may have mentioned - repeatedly mentioned - that our sex life leaves something to be desired. “Robot-like” is a word I recall using. “Unbearable” may have been another descriptive I threw out there. I also realize that the other night when you went to grab my boob, I did, in fact, slap your hand away and call it an “awful alien tendril,” which, I’m willing to admit, may not bode well for us in the long run. However, despite my actions of late, I don’t exactly know what possessed you to invite this lovely new accessory into our lives:
