Cue cheesy prom music

I'm sitting here with the lights turned off, an empty can of coke on my desk, some kind of rash on my pinkie finger, wishing I could write like Leonard Cohen, and you know sometimes I wonder if Jack Kerouac really did write On The Road on a continuous roll of teletype paper, and it's hard to believe that I haven't had a cigarette in almost twenty years, or that I've never ridden a horse, or a Harley, and I've only ever sung Sixteen Candles to myself and never out loud to anyone, and Dita and Marilyn are getting a divorce, and how come I always want to call Marilyn Charlie instead of Marilyn instead of Charlie instead of Marilyn instead of ad infinitum, ad nauseam, add milk and stir ...




And boobs are really great, aren't they.