You Know You Kind Of Look Cute In The Dark

Dance Club Massacre

Not once did I preach the very words you sought. Of 
course this comes to you as a shock. To be honest, I 
wouldn't crush your pretty toenails into a thousand pieces.

If so, this would only be a mess I'd feel obligated to 
clean up, unlike every fulfilling phantom with a hard on 
that bleeds internally and externally as if it were that 
fat chick at that one party who consumed every drop fell 
down the stairs and then spewed out her vomit and/or AIDS.

No, this is not art, this is the weekend baby. Let's get 
crazy. I feel like dancing.

A few tears shed, a few knuckles bled. Raised up to call 
out the bitch behind you with a nap sack and a brand new 
driver's license.

It's like that old saying, eh boys? Bon appetite.