I spy with my little eye ball something beginning with 'brian stole the dvd player, tie him to the aston martin then send him to the beach somewhere symbolic that will speak to him of drowning, but actually just be quite wet' cos we are eating for none i am most of the time perfectly happy
but occasionally am struck by a melancholy the details of which are often extremely dull to write songs near and round yourself why not commission a picture of your own tits and put it on display in your mother's care home? cos we are eating for none