Water Melancholy

I guess it is time for me to start feeling sorry for myself again... so here goes nothing. Well, looks like being voted most popular isn't going to cheer me up. Nor is the fact that I am so incredibly good looking that random people around the city constantly ask me if I am a full-time model... or at least an action hero... or some kind of sexual chef. I don't even think that the 50,000 friends I have on myspace, who are always leaving me comments about how much they miss me and love me (and other things too), will help me feel less cheerless. My gorgeous hairdo can't save me now... neither will my outgoing personality... or my golden silverish bronzie skin tone... which is all natural I might add. Speaking of all natural, my naturally good smelling body smell doesn't seem to be helping out much either. I don't even think that my naturally tight muscular body and naturally throbbing huge junk can make me feel any better. Even though I am currently thinking about all the people that wanted to do me in high school... and all the teachers too... and rodeo goers... I still can't seem to muster up a smile or a happy thought or a boner. I think I will start crying. I don't even want to think about how nimble my fingers are... sure they could give pleasure to lightning bolt babes and spider monkeys and blurry kung fu moves, but they can't tickle my weeping blue soul or sobbing self esteem. Even though my jumping ability is so enormous that I could easily propel myself along with several of my sporting trophies and pageant medallions into the heavens, it can't propel the sadness out of my butt hole. Don't try and tell me how much fun I am and how much beer I can drink and how much high-fivin' I can do... I just want to wallow in my self-deprecating horribly gloomy grief. Why must such an incredible smile go to waste? Why does such a perfect jaw line end up being ignored by the grin that decorates it so well? Why do the eyes of the beholder miss out on the sharp attractiveness of the smirk which sailed a thousand sailors to war? Why do so many people call me up and try to hang out with me? Why do all these people invite me to lunch all the time? Why do people feel the urge to text me just to let me know how special I am to their hearts? I dunno... but I do know one thing... this sorrowful little dude can't stand the unjoy any longer. Thank you for all of the warm tinglies I know you all are sending my way. There are probably a lot since I have so many friends. So... happy new year.

Who opened up the party behaviouré?

*Warning: this love poem contains explicit lyrics not suitable for humanity.

Cale opened it, you phunkin' pumpkin phuckin' phool! I am going to hollah at you, coming straight out of Compton... make that Hampton... the Hampton Inn... I work right next door, you phizzled phark ballers! Man, I got so many words that I need to say to explain how much I love you, you piss-poor phrick nickel station. Darn! Darn the Man! The Man is holding back my plan to show the glory of my ultimate love for you, you tickle herdin' phergie dork sausage. Ahhhh! My undying, endless, boundless, fearless, timeless love for you urges me to pour my soul into a vase and ship it, by DHL, to your heart, you dumb bastardly phuck head. I heart you, you vomit spark of a turd n' pickle sandwich. My love for you has no equal and I want to bake you a cake to show how hard my love is for you covered in fudge chocolate frosting, you ergonomically ass-kick-to-the-groin doo doo basket. I wish I knew how to change the oil in your car, 'cause I would replace it with my love juice of all flavors and combinations... and textures, you living, breathing shit-for-brains. I will treat you to a night of pleasure unlike any night of pleasure a smurf-killer has ever heard... full of good ideas, ping pong and roast beef, you phreak nipple-eating prankster. I love you more than the really big words that I have made up, more than rocks, more than a bowl full of wheat, more than a bird foot... you stupid ass, (crying) You stupid section of phukeroni pie... phuckin' phuck burger... (angerily) You phuck phart!

I love you.