Better Living Through Chemistry... We Just Need More BLOOD... BLOOD... BLOOD... BLOOD... BLOOD...

A change has come over me. I don't know how to explain it. But it's like this:

If you're a really garish looking (read: cancerous tan, fake nails/tits/hair, too much make-up, etc.), high-maintenance, preferably JAPpy chick, maybe toting some gaudy, overlarge piece of mobile technology (e.g. iPhone, SideKick) and constantly driving around drunk in a car with a retractable hardtop and a leather interior, I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you into next year actually. I wanna knock the dust off that pussy.

This is a strange thing, if only because I've spent so many of my post-pubescent years fucking hating your god damn guts. But now I have seen the light, the guard has been lowered, and previously-held standards have been all but vanquished.

And if you're Lindsay Lohan, even better. Flat out fucken fantastic actually. Call me Linds. My door is always open babydoll.

Consider the script Oh-fficially flipped...

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