Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Little Carmacita Smells Poo
There’s hope for you yet, little caramel carmacita. You sense the toolshed manifest of this wonky uberchoad.
You smell the odor of a chinstrap drawn thinner than the subtext of a storyline on Entourage.
The proper response to this invasion of your personal space, Carmacita? Do not ask Rockabilly Pout why he’s making The Shocker while pouting like a retarded seal.
Simply kick him in the nads.
Then come cuddle with me under my blankie while we watch Touristas on cable. In hi-def. With cheetos and a bottle of Mad Dog. Because I’m classy like that.
