Many things have angered me, yet I only get a few lines in and the inspiration peters out. Instead, you let me write things like this on scraps of paper that fill up my pants pockets:
"Ladz Two Blokes- a polite and genial group of four British men that cover Boyz 2 Men songs with delightful cockney accents. Unfortunately, their accents are the only thing endearing about them. No amount of charm can really correct the injustice of Motown Appleby-in-Westmooreland. Baritone Timmy Smythe-Williams cannot join in with the others on the choreographed dances. Somehow, his left leg is four inches shorter than his right leg, and his right leg is two inches shorter than the left."
Seriously? Why did you let me write this down? Why did I save this? Why was this in my brain at all?
If I start to smell oranges, this might begin to make sense.
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