Never trust a man who drinks milk before bed

They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery
Yet no one appreciates that when I’m impersonating Stephen Hawking
People go on about how Mickey Rooney isn’t actually Japanese
And so Breakfast at Tiffany’s shouldn’t be praised
But no one ever asks what it actually means to be Japanese
Don’t let the accent fool you; Mr. Miyagi was born in California
Crane kicks won’t save you in a bar fight
But they will make you look cool as you take a beer bottle to the throat
They say alcohol kills slowly
Which is kind of nice, if you stop to think about it
Drunken sex is overrated
But solo sex with a webcam, an elastic band and a cup of canola oil is not
Auto-erotic asphyxiation wouldn’t be so stigmatized
if they just called it Michael Hutchence disease
Say what you will about a sado-masochistic romp before breakfast
Nothing says “guten tag” like a good lashing of the left testicle
Though never the right, because that would be strange and terrifying
Like half the things I find on the Internet
I just learned that upon pulling the last page of On the Road from his typewriter, Jack Kerouac walked outside, dug a hole in his backyard
and had sex with it in order to be one with the earth
It’s a good thing you can’t libel the dead
Otherwise we might be in a bit of trouble right now
Though apparently Mickey Rooney is still alive
And appeared in a 2007 insurance ad, washing “imaginary dishes”
Psychologists say imaginary friends are a normal part of childhood
Cutting up Barbie dolls and mailing them to your grandparents is not
But that’s okay ’cause Ralph was the one who suggested it
Who is Ralph? He just left. Bye, Ralph
See you in the marzipan forest of our nightmares

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