You obviously don’t understand us, Mr. mammary glands. Even your name makes me want to submerge myself in stumpwater and cry the pain away, my tears invisibly embracing the murk.

On a darker note, my mother deigned to lend me the visa today. I came away from B&N with a dark chai latte, some Poe and that killer Sean Kingston CD an old Type O Negative album I found lurking between two disgusting pop CDs. “Thks fr the mmries,” I said, and she didn’t get it. She’s such a tool..

EDIT: Thanks for the tip, VengeanceX.