It's my own fault, I suppose. I have an over-inflated ego that I have to prick like a helium balloon in order to keep my feet on the ground. There's no middle ground with that. Either you're the cock of the walk or you're chicken shit
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Oh, you mean...You're right. It's eerily close to mine. Maybe I should do like Ginger and get a little flapper bob.
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And I have a kigpin Pinu still where you have pink fingernails lil and the coolest prono Bitch boots I have ever seen!
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I know the picture you're talking about. I look like Dee Snider's little sister.
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What was that you mentioned about drinks, Tim, dear? What time should I be over?
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Drinks, tonight, me and you. Whatever time is good for you. I can pick you up, if you'd like (and carry you around if you'd like that as well.)
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Any excuse for jazz hands, though. Do you think he'll let me dress up in his costumes?
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He probably would give you his old costumes for the show. All except the "Long Hard Road" ones, which I think he gave to Cher for her last tour.
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I'll give you a call tonight and you can sing me the song if you want. I don't have to hear it to know how special it's going to be though.
I adore you.
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I've worked on that song some more. It's beginning to turn into a symphony
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I'm not kidding. Just ask.
I want to hear it all.
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I would like to meet your dog someday, although it might be confusing with all the shouts of "Skold, sit!" and "Skold, heel!" I hear that enough from Manson as it is.
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