Wednesday, October 8, 2008

The Flame Twins


Like torches of douchal fire, they flicker across our collective unconscious like stampeding wildebeests of the Serengeti. Like spitballs shot out of a straw by our collective inner child, bored during recess.

Nearby brunettes are pulled into their odor, flashing nausea and middle fingers as they go down.

Woe, there is no hope.

There is no hope.

# posted by douchebag1

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