The mental image I have of myself is of Goldie Hawn in those few minutes of Death Becomes Her when she's 400 lbs. in sweats, cackling in front of the TV. I don't give a shit that I'm a big ol' emo mess and people have probably whispered behind my back about that all my life. It's part of my fucked-up charm. Where's a turkey leg so I can throw it
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