Tuesday, October 12, 2010


Dearest Bakon Vodka,
You motherfucker. All high and mighty....sitting, perched on the fridge. 
You think you are so fucking cool with your K. I mean let's get real here. You look like you belong in a Swedish dance club. And what is with that logo? Is that supposed to be the fat of the bacon. YEA, GOOD CALL. Who was the shit show who designed that? Who gave that the green light? YES. WEIRD VAG LOOKING LOGO FTW. no. NO. Horrible!
Why are you still in my apartment, asshole? I have not consumed dead animal for over 10 years.  Why would I start now? Especially with your nasty ass. But last night. You called out to me. Everyone was doing it. It was like when someone passed around the flask at the high school dance. I fucking opened my mouth, put your bottle to my lips & swallowed. I did it. I consumed you. SHAME. ON. ME. NEVER AGAIN. YOU ARE FOREVER DEAD TO ME. Dead to me just like a pig, sliced up, cured and slapped on a sandwich with tomato and lettuce.

Go to hell,
A Salty Hooker

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