Tits are in the Eye of the Beholderby Ty Higgins ![]() January 6, 2003 I think that I shall never passa poem as lovely as an ass or a verse that weighs as heavy as a buck-naked supermodel straddling a Chevy How could course words ever capture the heaven of the classic Maxim issue #7? No match has a poet's mind thought for the work God and boob doctors hath wrought on the chest of some milky-white maiden a blank canvas now silicone-laden How could Wordsworth ever be so divine as that chick on the cover of Maxim #9? He probably never got a girl so immaculate if the portrait in our book is at all accurate Everyone knows guys only turn to poems and learning of xylems and phloems and spending their time curing cancers and knowing the names of ballet dancers when their chances of scoring have vanished and their boring old asses are banished You may be there, teach-I'd say you are I've seen that shitbox you call a car You'd pick up more ladies in a hearse and that suit that you wear's even worse So I'm glad you've got books-'cuz you need 'em to forget you're not getting laid while you read 'em And me, all I need is to pass even if I was reading a Penthouse in class I need you to hook me up, teach, no doubt 'cuz I hear college girls are the ones who put out. Quote of the Day“I never met a man I didn't like, want to kill.”-Dill "California Angst" Wongers Fortune 500 CookieYou will fall in love with a new douche this week, a fact that unfortunately has nothing at all to do with feminine hygiene. Try to pay more attention to your figure: word on the street is you're upgrading from "pear-shaped" to "sack of shit-y." You will finally come to understand the phrase "fifteen men on a dead man's chest" this week, thanks to an unfortunate dogpile mishap. Your lucky perfumes: Colonic for Men, Goat's Dong, Eau Du Crapper.Try again later. Women Other Than Christina Ricci We Want Chained to Our Radiator
Lunch Money Listen up, Billy Olson I'm a drink you up like Molson make you sing like a fat Al Jolson grab your tits and milk 'em both, son. 'Cause you messed with the best I confess it's no test I am the real thing you will know the hurt I bring ... (12/23/02) Thug Life You can take your poetry class grind it into a meatball and cram it up your ass Mr. Costenoble, you fruity pebble prick. And Health teacher, I'm warning you to mind your own girth I could out-eat you since long before birth I had a... (12/9/02) Spastic Gastric Function "Spastic Gastric Function" is the social event of the year, bathe your Clydesdales in lite beer... Homeo-apathy as a viable career? Flaccid pansies? I'd eat them gladly. Anteaters play clarinets, from the trunks of blue corvettes, the... (11/25/02) |