Wednesday, November 07, 2007

I am Paris

I am Paris.
My profession?
Rich girl.
I am a woman.
Obscenity Control has detected
EXACTLY what is playing in your filthy mind.
Get your perverted imagination off
My immaculate glands.
I am not like that at all.
I am a lipstick
Seven Empire State Buildings tall,
A tracer round that God intends
To smear across the universe.
My Taj Mahal is open.
I am flat on my back.
Take your nasty masturbatory hand off your doodling stick
And ATTEND TO ME!
How DARE you touch me there?
You presumptuous prick!
Take yourself off to the zoo
And go fuck a giraffe.
My problem?
My Nobel Prize for Peace
Went severely under-reported
How's that for starters?
A photo? Okay, then, pass it over, let me see.
LET ME SEE!!
Yes, that was me, the bad girl,
But that was then, and thiS is now.
When I finally get to Rwanda, then,
Then you will see what I can do!
I need an arena.
Milan, Darfur,
The porning eye of the video camera,
These are NOT my Colloseum.
Pardon? How does that relate to anything?
I have to tell you that Focus Control reports
That YOUR ATTENTION IS SLIPPING.
A question? Oh, okay ... if you really must.
No, thank you, I have no significant nostalgia for jail,
None at all.

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