You hear that sound? That crashing sound? That's cars wrecking from men seeing Halle Berry's cleavage. Men are dying and wrecking into things. Their families are screaming, "look out! Jesus! Tom, stop!" and those men don't care. They drive to their deaths. They're stumbling out of broken cars, ignoring their injured children, stepping over their dead aunt, fixated on those precious pepper jacks. One look is all it took to hook them on these grandiose grabbers. Get two hearty handfuls and go to your grave. How many teeth will you swallow? How many gallons of blood? I am shitting and pissing myself and I don't care. I forgot about everything else. This is what we men do. Nothing wrong with it.
Are you concerned that you may be a character trapped in a Tom Waits song? Be smart and learn the warning signs before it's too late. Also, it's too late. It has always been too late.
I'm haunted by a recurring vision of a skeleton flipping me off. To avoid seeing this terrifying image in bumper sticker form, I pay someone with a blank bumper to drive in front of me at all times.
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