Here's the thing, it's not you. It's me.

Here's the thing, it's not you. It's me. We both know we've been growing apart for a while now. I think maybe we're just better when we're apart. Oh, the money

i owe you? Well so here's the thing...I don't have it now and I doubt I'll ever have it. Shit, the truth is, if I had the money I wouldn't give it to you. I'd spend it on my

sex-change procedure. Someday, I swear to god, I am moving to a country with a better health-care system, but for now I will just have to

work with what I got. I looked in the mirror: pouting lips, check! Big blues, check! Long slender neck-line, check! The beard-growth was quite discouraging, as was the receding

gums in my smile. There were so few teeth that when I grinned I looked like a pitchfork. I pasted my hair down with LA Looks Gel, Extra Hold. I tucked my shirt into my underwear

on my head. I wore two left shoes even though I had two right feet. Yet no one takes me seriously. People only listen to Van Heusen models in a sartorialistic state. The King of

Meat invented a tree that grows steaks, but every time you pluck one it screams. This King of Meat grew incensed to self-pity, kicking his two left shoes off his two right feet.

He knew he'd make millions off his screaming-steak-tree. Unfortunately so did the King of Meat’s two-timing ex-wife, the Duchess of Tofu. That night, she snatched it as revenge for

the myriad of wrongs he'd done her. The screaming-steak-tree, slung over the Duchess of Tofu's shoulder, cried out, "Help me, King of Meat, help me!" "By the hairs on my chinny chi