Although I once shamelessly foisted a yeoman's bounty of carnal aspirations at your supple, copper-domed better half week after merciless week, I never actually wished that you were dead.
And now you are.
Yet, still, I'm not one iota closer to sexing the erstwhile Mrs. Cunningham now than I was as a musky, besotted rodeo clown of avarice back in 1983. And there's nothing that Spike Jonze can do about it now.
Is that what a loving God would allow?
Sad But Not Really Meaningfully Grieving,
Denny DelVecchio
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9 comments:
Did I already comment on this? I don't understand this - you're getting soft on me Denny (I know you told me never to say that again to you or you'd punch me in the face again, but ....) Maybe it's because I'm sober?
"Sad But Not Really Meaningfully Grieving"
Hi-larious.
I'm sorry; I shouldn't have made light of your mourning. I can either make you some comfort food - perhaps some sort of casserole, or I we can go forward with the heavy petting. Your call.
@KAP: Denny is soft roughly 37 minutes a day.
@Vodka: See you at the petting zoo, love.
"A musky besotted rodeo clown"? I've never met one of those before
I'll sit on it.
@Good Nurse: You've never met Denny.
@Single: Boing.
I guess he finally jumped the shark!!!
COLD as a Lake Superior swim in January, Loon.
But strong.
Don't be sad, Denny. You could always foist your carnage on Stephen Collin's wife.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JB24X05F0wI
(From what I heard she's like a more coherent version of Courtney Love.)
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