My own brain hates me.
It's a jerk.
If my brain could becomea person,
it would be a bully thatfollowed me around 24-seven
that only I could see or hear.
'Cause no matter what I'm doing,
my brain will eventuallychime in like,
"Hey, what's going on, loser?
"What are you doing, losing?
"What's it likelosing all the time?
"Hey, look... hey, lookwhat I found
"when I was digging arounddeep in our memory banks.
"You remember this?
"You were 12 years old.
"Some nine-year-old kid beat youup and stole your bike
"and all you did was cry.
"You should think about thatfor a couple of weeks
"and then start smokingagain, sissy.
"Hey, hey, hey, hey, are youtalking to a girl?
"Who do you think you are,dweebus?
"Hey, stare at her crotch.Stare at her crotch.
"Stare at her crotch.Stare at her crotch.
"Stare at her crotch...Stare at her crotch!
"Stare at her crotch!Stare at her crotch!
"Do it. She wants you to.
Why else would she bewearing blue jeans?"
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