Baby, I got the love. I got the love. If you're a little light, I can cover you. No thanks necessary. Your smile is thanks enough. Baby,I got the love. I got the love. Just enough. To cover me and to cover you. Na, you're not putting me out. I'm glad to do it. And don't worry about loving me back. If you do, that's cool. If not, that's cool, too. Either way, no regrets. Baby, I got the love. I got the love. Just enough. To cover me and to cover you.
Why Is Nancy Grace Such A Mega-Bitch? has got enough likes to become re-categorized as a community page! I'm not exactly sure if this is a good thing, but from what I'm guessing, this will bring the page more exposure. And you know me, I love to expose myself! So check out the page and like it up, and read about all the hate, loathing, and confusion people have felt about the devil's favorite daughter, Nancy Grace.
I think it's ultimately a good thing we keep our hearts in cages. I mean, what would it be like if our hearts were cage-free? Why they'd be on the loose, starting all sorts of trouble, making a mess, and getting blood splotches on everyone and everything. It would be anarchy. Yeah, God really had His thinking cap on when He thought of that one. And on a related note, I know why the caged heart sings: to get to the other side. But take it from me, this seldom works.
When you're kind of a nympho, and lovers are few and far between, there is always the age-old substitute for sex; food, to fulfill all my needs. So, on this very special day, I want to acknowledge my not so secret love affair with a post for all the world to see. I love you. And I have loved you for some time now. I love you when you are unfurled before my waiting mouth, when you're a Johnny's Lunch Texas Hot! I love you when you have that prickly attitude, all full of spice, when you're General Tso's Chicken. I love you when you're in the mood to smother me, when you're a Sancho covered in ooey gooey MV sauce. I love you, Baby, in all your many forms. However, like they say, all good things must come to an end. And as much as I love you, something's gotta give, and I don't mean my belt buckle. We can't go on living like this. We can't keep meeting like this. It just ain't natural. We at least need to consider seeing other people, while I can still fit through the door. Otherwise this thing is gonna turn into something ungodly. Something the preacher man might call gluttony. So, Baby, if you really love me, if you ever cared a thing for me, you'll do the right thing by me, and you won't tempt me anymore. You won't prance around on the plate, barely dressed or overdressed, depending on the form you choose, daring me to eat you all up. Cuz, Baby, I would. You know I would. That's the problem. I'm weak, Baby. And I'm not just talking about out of shape weak. So let this Valentine's Day be our last night together. In the last several years, I've really let myself go, now it's time for me to let you go. So goodbye, to my one truish love.
Who knew Bobby Brown's greatest (greatest as in most significant) contribution to music would be killing Whitney Houston. I know I know. We can't blame Bobby...entirely. I mean, every adult must, at some point take responsibility for their own actions. Still, sometimes it's easier to look at things in simple math. For instance: [Whitney Houston (all the talent in the world) - Bobby Brown (all the talent of a steaming pile of shit)] x 20 years = Whitney Houston (all the talent in the world aged 20 years and entering the latter stages of an otherwise illustrious and uninterrupted shit-free career).
Bolden nodded. Only now could Bolden see how detached he’d become from these things called humans and all their human things, particularly emotions and whatnot. Bolden preferred interacting on Fuguebook, the website practically everyone on the planet was on. Bolden enjoyed the abbreviated hellos and innocuous updates from friends Bolden hadn’t spoken to in 10 years. However, for Bolden, the occasional instant message or private chat was becoming too much of a social workout. Lately, he preferred to keep these humans at arm’s length, much the way he had when he actually knew these people, except more so.
excerpt from Embolden: Prisoner In The Forest
excerpt from Embolden: Prisoner In The Forest
So she says, "I'm not falling in love with you. I'm still getting to know you." So I say, "Okay. I realize we've only gone on a couple dates. But are you at least thinking about falling in love with me? Like, say love is like a plant and when you fall in love it's like planting a seed and watching it grow. I'm not asking if you've planted that seed, but have you at least seen the seeds at the store and have you given any thought to buying some, to possibly plant, someday?" There's something about this one, gents.