Instead, I'm going to give Adele a call and ask if I can live with her. OMGeejus how fun would that be!? Her baby and guy could go be someplace else, and Dels and I would eat chocolate peanut butter balls next to the wine fountain in black muumuus, knee socks and Crocs.
When we're tired of that (if ever), we'll lock ourselves in a stable in the English countryside. She'll smoke fags, and I'll pretend to smoke fags until my album is complete. It's called 27.
These are the songs:
1. Rolling in Dog Poop
2. I'm 35 Ana Haf (The World's Oldest Child)
3. Your Selfies Are Extremely Stupid
4. Captain A-hole Moby Dick
5. Set Fire to Everything I Can't Sell
6. No, You Can't Have Your Stuffs (I'm Selling Your Stuffs)
7. Don't Add 'S' to Stuff Because It's Already Plural I Told You That
8. Where Are My Shits to Give!? I Can't Find My Shits to Give!
9. You're Not Really a Model (Snap)
10. Namaste
11. Someone Like You Is Bad
After I get rich and build my house next to Adele's with a telescope room, Roman bath and spiral slide, I'm going to donate a huge amount of money to organizations that empower girls and women (and therefore insecure men) by activating the part of us that doesn't put up with bullshit.
But do people still wear these?
*I've acknowledged her in this blog three times now, and that really bothers me...but I'm not going to stop.
