Don't you ask me why your cat's back broke; your cactus choked; you woke at five again. Can't tell you, any more than I can predict when you, me or Aunt Marie'll croak.
I have gun please. Shake hands release devil? My herpes loves you. Magnificent whore stew, thanks. Your shoe makes child. Our Queen wild transsexual! Your styled hair's gay.
Does this cloud-maned beauty see how I ironed this shirt, pressing mercilessly until the ionised water evaporated? Does he understand how long it took to shape
Age 11. I got boobs early. Behind the boating lake, past curfew. Bloody. I needed cider. Dani, year 10. Bitch told everyone I had an acorn. My father. Guess that doesn't count.