DamienDempsey
New Member
It's come sadly to this. Morrissey, aka C**t Extradonaire, you must submit. Shamefully admit your ineptness, bow politely and be off. The perpetual wind-up is now an irritant. Of course it is your blog, yet you cowardly release statements via the shite True To You website that suggest otherwise. Not just one but an absurd second. More vexed I could not possibly be: for I stupidly championed your rubbish blog for a month. A tragic waste of time. You must pay the Government of Canada (who inadvertently financed such madness) compensation.
We couldn't be bothered anymore. The game is tired and it's up. Britney delivers a great deal more, in the most significant of ways. If only she would be topless at her next concert. I'd be there, front row, praying for a bead of sweat from her buxom chest to bless me as holy water might. The ways I'd like to have Britney, to infinity and blissfully beyond! I'll bother more with her and less with you.
The magic has fully dissipated, your music I can never enjoy as I once did. Illusion utterly shattered, why did I bloody bother? When I could have spent valuable ATP on my Spanish Delight of a boyfriend. He's worthy of all bother. If you saw him you'd be eternally envious of me. A more physically-beautiful being does not stalk this dreary planet. He is in need of his own shrine: the boy simply must be worshipped! What a pleasurable altar it would be to kneel at.
Donate your body to science, in all of its wanning vitality, for the better good. For you are entirely spent. I'm sure the most gleaming of bio-hazardous waste bins, in their yellow luminance, will be more than receptive to your decrepit remains. Be buggered by your quandary of a blog and fellate music label executives in hope of an ever-elusive deal. You might, though, manage brilliantly as all who have unnaturally pursed-lips do. Ones that positively beacon. Don't forget to breathe when you have something mammoth in your mouth.
Kate Ryan
We couldn't be bothered anymore. The game is tired and it's up. Britney delivers a great deal more, in the most significant of ways. If only she would be topless at her next concert. I'd be there, front row, praying for a bead of sweat from her buxom chest to bless me as holy water might. The ways I'd like to have Britney, to infinity and blissfully beyond! I'll bother more with her and less with you.
The magic has fully dissipated, your music I can never enjoy as I once did. Illusion utterly shattered, why did I bloody bother? When I could have spent valuable ATP on my Spanish Delight of a boyfriend. He's worthy of all bother. If you saw him you'd be eternally envious of me. A more physically-beautiful being does not stalk this dreary planet. He is in need of his own shrine: the boy simply must be worshipped! What a pleasurable altar it would be to kneel at.
Donate your body to science, in all of its wanning vitality, for the better good. For you are entirely spent. I'm sure the most gleaming of bio-hazardous waste bins, in their yellow luminance, will be more than receptive to your decrepit remains. Be buggered by your quandary of a blog and fellate music label executives in hope of an ever-elusive deal. You might, though, manage brilliantly as all who have unnaturally pursed-lips do. Ones that positively beacon. Don't forget to breathe when you have something mammoth in your mouth.
Kate Ryan
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