Wing Music, submitted by Julian. It is said that great music brings all the people of the world together. Wing's music also brings all the people of the world together, but for the purposes of a mass murder-suicide.
Wing was born in Hong Kong and immigrated to New Zealand 10 years ago where she began to study singing. She has been singing for patients in hospitals, resthomes and R.S.A's for about four years and occasionally holds her own promotional concerts in Auckland at the First Imperial, Centra and Hyatt hotels. English is Wings second language and although her pronunciation may not always be perfect, but she hopes that you will still enjoy the music.
It's true, her pronunciation is occasionally shaky. You know, sort of like how ebola is occasionally lethal. It amazes me that people in New Zealand would actually let this woman butcher classic English songs in front of hospital patients. I guess it's a way of making their day to day pain seem less unbearable. "Sure, you've got colon cancer, but at least Wing only comes around once a week! The other six days are smoooooth sailing!" I'm sure there are statistics out there that prove that more life support systems are "accidentally" unplugged while Wing is singing than the rest of the year combined. If you think I'm joking about just how hilariously badly this woman mangles her repertoire of stage standards, just listen to a song or two. Personally, I'm a fan of "My Favourite Things," especially when Wing shares her thoughts on "Blough paypeh backehjehs tie hop wih stwins." I don't know exactly what that means, but it definitely makes being conquered by the Nazis seem like a decent option.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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