Hamza Get Your Gun OR My Personal Musical

This post is going to piss the hell out of me later and blow my street-cred to Hades (if I had any to begin with). So (deep breath) here it goes.

That stupid little blind, naked kid shot me with one of his arrows and I'm afraid I've lost my edge. It's funny how the most vindictively vicious people (spelled H-A-M-Z-A) can turn into doe-eyed dumkopffs when this happens but, my friends, I've lost my edge ever since it did. I can't even make fun of ugly people anymore (woe is me). The worst thing is now I can understand those big overblown ballads all of a sudden and some of them even *choke* get me teary-eyed (Oh Al Green you poor misunderstood creature).

(Being the geek that I am) I naturally thought of how lucky telepaths (and god) are when it comes to love because they have the benefit of knowing if they're wasting their time or if their paramour actually feels the same. Still, there's nothing I (or in Say What You Want below, Texas) can do short of hiring a private investigator or buying a pair of binoculars and renting a room with a view of mon cheri's window.



I wish I could say love was all pure emotion and PG feelings but then I would be compromising my unflinching integrity (I can't have that now can I?). A lot of it, in my case, has to do with waking up in the morning with a boner (I don't know whether the timing or the physical reaction applies to women or other men for that matter) and a desperate need to reach the person my body then proceeds to cry out for (after certain dextrous ministrations). But instead of boring you with the fine details of how pathetic I've become, I'm going to embed a little song by Mousse T which I'm sure any warm-blooded sentient being can empathize with (I'm sorry frogs and snails. I know you contributed to my genetic make-up but you're exempt).



Never say it's impossible to end the most wishy-washy schlop on an upbeat note. Mousse T's Horny still rocks in 2007!