I'm not so sure where one goes to sell one's soul, but even if I did, I'm really probably too lazy to make the trip.
Plus, it would probably require some negotiation and a meeting or two and Santa knows how much I hate meetings and sales pitches.
I don't even know how to get my soul out to part ways in the first place.
I tried to breathe it out but I don't think it worked.
Souls are dumb.
I needed some change to do the laundry so I went digging through the cushions but all I found were dollar bills.
LOTS of dollar bills.
Since when do cushions suck out dollar bills?
Anyway, I'm looking into it. Don't be surprised if you see me at the cushion patent office once I get some answers.
Also, I got swindled into playing keyboards for Trent Reznor's new band. He is tan and muscular now.
HOLY SHIT I HATE TRENT REZNOR.
I am cursed with a sense of hospitality and accommodation.
I made the best of it, I climbed up on his big tower in the middle of the stage and did laundry as I threw a goth rock tantrum tipping over boxes of detergent and piles of folded clothing.
The rest of the stage was decorated like an upside down theater with a giant bouquet of roses shaped like satan's head.
Oh the rebellion.
Summary:
I'd put my soul out on the curb if I thought someone would take it.
It's not stealing if the thief is a cushion.
Tan + Muscles = NOT GOTH
That's all for now.
Don't get caught slamming the dryer closed for cheap applause.
Your Favorite Shape For a Floral Arrangement,
A Turd
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