Woke up this morning and it seemed to me,
That every night turns out to be
A little more like Bukowski.
And yeah, I know he's a pretty good read.
But God who'd want to be?
God who'd want to be such an asshole?
God who'd want to be?
God who'd want to be such an asshole?
I'm sorry, sir. This is the Toast Masters Club. The Bread Buddies meeting is across the street.
I regret to inform you, sir, that the wedding is off. On her way to the wedding, your bride fell victim to a murder. A murder of crows, to be precise.
