I don't get why girls hate me. Is it my genuine sexuality? Is it the way I talk? Is it the fact that after I first meet them I go home and call them with Barry White playing in the background as I pretend to narrate a porn flick? Upset, I entered myself in a spelling bee where once again I was confronted by a bunch of whiny little bastards who insist on wanting to affiliate themselves with directors of movies that focus their story lines around kids in the ghetto who can't write poetry but that's OK, because their teacher is fresh out of uni and wants to help them to write poetry then call them with Barry White playing in the background as they pretend narrate a porno flick, that rhymes. Damn creative thinking. Creative thinking gave me the inspiration to buy a dog, now I only have one testicle. Creative thinking gave me a reason to take a a bus, then I got squirrel gripped by the decrepit ninety year old. Creative thinking gave me a reason to run for president, then I got raped by the artist formerly known as Lindsey Lohan (now known as Larry Bighelm). Got a dollar, I've got a date with a bus and the seat reserved for the elderly and the retarded.
