Name for a band: charm factory. Overeager PA on the playboy set: I CAN DO THIS! Everything’s chill at this house. But if you don’t say a blessing before eating you get slapped. And for gods sakes, don’t mix your milk and meat or you’ll get a nose wallop.
I don’t want my kneecaps broken for this but I’m going to have to speak the truth. The punk rockers work at starbucks now I don’t need any proof. The true punks are trapped under rafters and oceans full of ice. They’re trapped in a world of dementia where it’s impossible to be nice. Deliberately courting diseases again in the wind- without a jacket, self destructive like shiva again, you bounce back and forth like a yoyo, friend. And out dancing in the rain again. The bugs crawling out of your brain again. Set your sights on the roses blue, and you had time to miss your curfew. You went painting your shoes bright colors and hues you’re cultivating charm as if you’re raking the
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