To All My Bitches Out There

Man, I hope every guy in that band’s dick fell off after they recorded that video. My penis hurt just watching it, and I could care less if the lead singer gets his boyfriend back or not.   But that’s not why I posted it here.

For some reason that song was stuck in my head this afternoon.  Hopefully I overheard it in a Shamrock Shake commercial or some shit like that.  Either way, it got me thinking.

Whatever I said, whatever I did, I didn’t mean it.

I don’t know if that kind of apology would float in any of your guys’ house, but I don’t even think my mom would have accepted that from me when I was six.  If I told my wife that I not only don’t know what I said or did, but that I’m also not interested in trying to remember… and oh yea, I’m sorry, it would go over about as well as if I’d given her the Slut Bear from Vermont Teddy Bear on Valentine’s Day.

I’m gonna tear down a wall here, ladies.  Most of the time, we really don’t know what we did to piss you off, but we’re not stupid enough to admit it.  Most of us will just assume it’s that time of the month.

In the twist of separation, you excelled at being free.

Are you kidding me? I can always connect with a singer’s pain when he uses words like ‘excelled.’ Thanks to this blogging exercise, hopefully my mind will excel at not having this gay-ass stupid song stuck in it any longer. It’s your problem now.

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