Junk mail, I do not believe your promises
You are a big liar, junk mail folder, with your one thousand e-mails in my junk mail trap every day of my life.
I do not believe there are four girls waiting to meet me.
I do not believe you will make my penis stronger. I do not have a penis.
I do not believe that your watches are “all that” or that Viagra is the answer to my problems (see above: no penis), or that you are “freaking cheap,” although I do believe you are a “freak.” I would not do ritalin and drink, although according to you I can and buy some lexapro for good measure and call it a day.
(Customer service girl at Fred Meyer store, after telling an out-of-state caller, No we don’t sell hard liquor here: “He just needs to get himself a hard lemonade and call it a night.”)
I do not want your meds program, your depression seroquel or your protonix side effects. I do not care about Zoloft, synthroid or ativan side effects.
I know the synthroid side effects, having been on it since I was a child of 14. Its side effect is: I’m alive and not going into cardiac arrest.
I do not want 100 milligrams of this or that or something COD or something for free or all the help I need right here right now.
I am tired of telling my children, “Don’t look, junk mail!” even though I have selected text only no pix so I no longer have to see the big dix. My daughter reads now, and my son is learning. I do not want them to meet you.
You go away now, junk mail, before I slap ya.
ps — All the testosterone I need? No thanks. It’s estrogen here and I’ve got plenty.
Very clever!
October 19th, 2007 | #
My dad says, “4 out of five women are unsatisfied with my penis size? Who ARE these women?”
October 21st, 2007 | #
JCK,
There should be a law, don’t you think?
Nan,
Heh heh heh — your dad is funny.
October 21st, 2007 | #