Wayne Tell me, when the first show is over, will you still love me when I'm an incredibly humungoid giant star Cassandra Yeah. Wayne Will you still love me when I'm in my hanging-out-with-Ravi-Shankar phase Cassandra Yeah. Wayne Will you still love me when I'm in my carbohydrate, sequined-jumpsuit, young-girls-in-white-cotton-panties, waking-up-in-a-pool-of-your-own-vomit, bloated-purple-dead-on-a-toilet phase Cassandra Yeah. Wayne Okay, party. Bonus.
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How did it die? I called it EVIL. I said to it, your poems stink like vomit.
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Estate agents. You can't live with them, you can't live with them. The first sign of these nasty purulent sores appeared round about 1894. With their jangling keys, nasty suits, revolting beards, moustaches and tinted spectacles, estate agents roam the land causing perturbation and despair. If you try and kill them, you're put in prison: if you try and talk to them, you vomit. There's only one thing worse than an estate agent but at least that can be safely lanced, drained and surgically dressed. Estate agents. Love them or loathe them, you'd be mad not to loathe them.
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When kids hit 1 year old, it's like hanging out with a miniature drunk. You have to hold onto them. They bump into things. They laugh and cry. They urinate. They vomit.'
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Dear Darla, I hate your stinkin' guts. You make me vomit. You're the scum between my toes. Love, Alfalfa
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All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique. All artists, if they are to survive, are forced, at last, to tell the whole story; to vomit the anguish up.
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