These Five Words I Swear To You
I would have posted this yesterday, but I've been drowning my sorrows in a bottle of Colon Clenz since I heard the news that Dave Navarro and Carmen Electra have split up.
I mean, just when you start to believe in true love, something like this happens, and you're just left wandering the streets shirtless with a feather boa and your eyeliner running down your face while your tears mingle with the seven necklaces you're wearing and turn your neck green - and right at that moment - Perry Farrell drives by you, throws a Porno for Pyros CD at your oversized head and laughs and laughs and laughs as he speeds away. You retreat to The Roxy where you find Bobbi Brown from the Cherry Pie video and rest your weary Wolverine head upon her silicone pillows until you wake in the morning to an overweight Jani Lane from Warrant kicking you in the head with a sizeable pair of leather studded Hush Puppies then, just when you think you hit rock bottom, Tawny Kitaen pulls up in 1987 Jaguar and spits on you. You freebase the spit and squeak through another day of your horrific over-accessorized existence in the hope that Tommy Lee is just a pay-phone call away tomorrow, ever-ready with a gift certificate to the Piercing Pagoda so the new holes in your ear cartilage can show the world the new hole in your heart. If that doesn't do it, being forcibly removed from the next Pussycat Dolls performance while screaming, "Your cooter always did smell like Dennis Rodman, you whore!!!!!!" should do it.
Carry on, Dave Navarro. Carry on, old friend. I'll be there for you. These five words I swear to you.
Maggie
I mean, just when you start to believe in true love, something like this happens, and you're just left wandering the streets shirtless with a feather boa and your eyeliner running down your face while your tears mingle with the seven necklaces you're wearing and turn your neck green - and right at that moment - Perry Farrell drives by you, throws a Porno for Pyros CD at your oversized head and laughs and laughs and laughs as he speeds away. You retreat to The Roxy where you find Bobbi Brown from the Cherry Pie video and rest your weary Wolverine head upon her silicone pillows until you wake in the morning to an overweight Jani Lane from Warrant kicking you in the head with a sizeable pair of leather studded Hush Puppies then, just when you think you hit rock bottom, Tawny Kitaen pulls up in 1987 Jaguar and spits on you. You freebase the spit and squeak through another day of your horrific over-accessorized existence in the hope that Tommy Lee is just a pay-phone call away tomorrow, ever-ready with a gift certificate to the Piercing Pagoda so the new holes in your ear cartilage can show the world the new hole in your heart. If that doesn't do it, being forcibly removed from the next Pussycat Dolls performance while screaming, "Your cooter always did smell like Dennis Rodman, you whore!!!!!!" should do it.
Carry on, Dave Navarro. Carry on, old friend. I'll be there for you. These five words I swear to you.
Maggie
posted by the freakin hott at Wednesday, July 19, 2006
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