Clap your fucking hands

I'm sitting here curled up at someone else's computer with make-up on but with nowhere to go. Tom has a boat on his chest and three cups of tea have been drank. We like our tea.

Now there's mousse in my hair. What does it do? We don't know. I might grow antlers.

I'm invading other people's spaces of late. Will it be you next? People are laughing at me. We should do this every day. Glamour is forever.

They're probably really disgustingly couply... You probably won't like those either. Why do people hate other people being happy? Maybe it's because they don't have tall ships on their chests. All they have are tugboats of hate. Pulling weighted emotions and bouyant rage.

What time do you have to present? You've got time... But time turns you into a skank, and now she just opens her legs to the guys next door.

Let all those fuckers be.

We're happy.