twohundredandsixtyone.

"rah rah radiohead"

seriously for a second. i had a dream that i would like to share about rah rah paula abdul and if you want to hear it you can listen and if you don't you can fuck yourself sideways. i care not which path you chose, but only that you choose one and not teeter-totter on the decision for far longer than it would take for me to weave this tale. rah rah. have you decided? alright. then i shall continue. no shit. there i was. giving it to rah rah paula abdul high and dry meat shaft in beef curtains dick on pussy dick in pussy D in P D in A D in M(outh) all that and then V in A and P in A and A/P in D and all the variances in between. hot to say the least. and then just as rah rah paula abdul and myself are about to rah rah climax...simon cowell and his man-boobs (hereafter referred to as moobssss) walk in and ruin my nut. i pull out of rah rah paula and end up shooting a stream of jism that covers the walls and the walls to the windows etc and all over simon's skin tight black t-shirt and his underlying not so subtle moobssss. i was offended. rah rah paula was offended. simon was not so offended. he loves moob juice. of course. especially from seacrest. 'give me that moob juice, seacrest! all night long (in british accent and whatnot)'. rah rah rah. and radiohead was there too. rah.