Author Of His Own Misfortune

If every decision is fatalist and we’re extending towards a short play heaven scenario then firing Cheryl Cole was a dick move intent on skewering publicity like stick sausages, pineapple and cheese blocks, party foods on paper plates sweating in three o’ clock air.

I tan my hand in the meat grill as Tulisa’s book quotes become the unintentional comedy I day seek, she dictated 308 pages and I filled an ice cream tub with street vomit sure my society dent was evolutionary like Britney, who could repatch ships on the brink of ice berg bearing and I wouldn’t kiss somebody comfortable with injecting a face unnecessarily but I’d fuck any Tom Cruise incarnation, even a Vanilla Sky one, because I know what the potential of god is and I sticker steal him.

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