Dear Circus Freak,

So talking to you feels good. If I felt more comfortable with the present state of my body I would catch a bus to LA and try to convert you to my personal cult of me.

we would eat dark chocolate and skip the carrot cake (because of its naughty implications) and laugh. we would try to integrate your 5,000 personalities and figure out better ways to lash out at your monkey.

you would under no circumstance attempt to get to know or understand my bladder or any other orafice with out explicit instruction from the big cheese, but never take direction from the big champagne cake.It goes limp far too quickly to be of any use.

but alas, I rest here in vegas with my dimples and lumps and leave you to "hustlebuns" around LA...doing that thing you do, with or sans patchuli, balls to the wind, ass hair matted like god intended but never would admit...yes, the stage has been set and balls are in motion ( and also to the wind as previously stated).

maybe if the intern thing doesn't pan out I will become a mime...but like a talking one that drinks too much. I could do running social commentary or narrate german sheiss porn. the game would not be getting to me to talk, but to shut up and stop urinating in public.

yeah. that would be cool.

so you wanna make out sometime?