Spain: She Haunts My Dreams
For not remembering which dead president I’m supposed to celebrate. There are just so many.
Deny that you’re stoned when you’re, like, really really stoned.
Tell me that there’s no good reason I should be constipated. Do I really need a good reason?
Armstrong is going to be a bitchin last name. It’ll be like, I’m somehow related to Neil. Although not really.
A bunch of silly love songs
For wishing that Bob Costas would just, like, die.
Bowls and bowls and bowls of Lucky Charms.
Refuse to give St. Augustine his own holiday, too. Or St. Etienne. Or St. Germain.