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Skid marks in underpants are perhaps uncalled for, but inevitable.

Unlike the tracks left behind at the bottom of the toilet, meant to be honored for their ephemeral nature. Like the art of the Tibetan monks -- admired before disappearing into a void of space and time.

Nevertheless, your clothing is soiled. These are the facts. You are a man of the earth. Can she not see that?!

She bought you white. You asked for burgundy.

She failed to wash your drawers today. They will not be cleaned, pressed, folded...stored properly in drawer number three.

She (the bitch) don't love you.

Date Written: April 20, 2005
Author: Turgid
Average Vote: 3.6

04/29/2005 The Rid: This short reminds me of a skidmark!
04/29/2005 Will Disney: This sounds like beat poetry to me. Snap, snap, snap.
04/29/2005 qualcomm: that last line is pretty fucking great
04/29/2005 Jawbreaker (4): Much better after the 2nd read.
04/29/2005 Klause Muppet (3):
04/29/2005 Klause Muppet: Lets stimulate some conversation about this one. Uhm... HEY FUCK WADS! Vote/Comment on this or die! Yeah!... hah. Ehem...uhm.
04/29/2005 The Rid (3): Only because Jawbreaker and I had a conversation about tracks left at the bottom of the toilet just yesterday.
04/29/2005 Jawbreaker: Hah, we did, didn't we?
04/30/2005 TheBuyer (4): Day late, but inevtable.
My bum, in the
Sliding cotton on it's balloonknot.
04/30/2005 cuntry (4): yuck, but, all right... last 4 lines are kick ass.