Here we go, here we go, here we go a-gain, girls, what’s my weakness?
I’d probably really enjoy this Andy Warhol knockoff Brillo pad box-pouf thing for about a week, before someone actually put their feet up on it and left a smudge, and I had to turn into some kind of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers villain, waving my tentacles and screaming about why we can’t have nice things.
Andy, sit the fuck down and comb your hair. Now, make me something furniture-wise I can really use. This tiny-to-big thing is working for you. Go with it. Maybe a diaphragm-beanbag-chair? Or a steakknife I can use to cut my way into American Apparel after they close? Like I’m paying that much for a leotard, Andy? Is my head stuffed with Brillo, haha? You listening, Andy?
What’s that, you’re dead? Didn’t I just tell you to comb your cunting hair?
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