They ain't ready to play nice:
I made by bed, and I sleep like a baby, With no regrets and I don't mind saying, It's a sad sad story That a mother will teach her daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger. And how in the world Can the words that I said Send somebody so over the edge That they'd write me a letter Saying that I better shut up and sing Or my life will be over
I know what gift my mother is getting as a (late) Mother's Day present.
- Badtux the Music-lovin' Penguin
No comments:
Post a Comment
Ground rules: Comments that consist solely of insults, fact-free talking points, are off-topic, or simply spam the same argument over and over will be deleted. The penguin is the only one allowed to be an ass here. All viewpoints, however, are welcomed, even if I disagree vehemently with you.
WARNING: You are entitled to create your own arguments, but you are NOT entitled to create your own facts. If you spew scientific denialism, or insist that the sky is purple, or otherwise insist that your made-up universe of pink unicorns and cotton candy trees is "real", well -- expect the banhammer.
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.