The Mike Says...
Tuesday the 12th of September 2006
Every body’s got that little angel on their shoulder, no matter how down in the dumps, how Dark, how morbid, how completely out of it they are. Gothy McGotherson who creeps in his parents cellar and wares all black and mascara in high school and talks in black poetry while smoothly waving his hands in the air to the rhythm of the Birthday Massacre’s “Lover’s End” still secretly hums “The Hills are Alive to the sound of Music” I the shower. No, Really. Go ask him. Just remember denial is the first sign of an addict.

You can hide it all you like, Punk-Rock Queen of the Naughties, and you can mosh in the fields until you’ve finally head-butted that fence post flat against the ground, but don’t freak cuz you find yourself singing “It’s gonna be a nice day,” while the Saltines are jamming in your head.

See there’s a little angle on your shoulder and he like’s to listen to ABBA, unfashionable though they may be. Don’t panic. Just hand him an iPod filled with the Golden Oldies and jam a little as you extract the still beating black heart from your second period teacher as she screams on about her pre-mortem autopsy. It’s all gravy, yo.

Peace ouch.

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