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Once an eagle scout, always an eagle scout, and though you don't quite merit a badge, you're a temporary lift from this loneliness, and you're not quite the worst I've ever had. There's gay porn playing in your living room, I mutter, "I could do better than that." And so we go upstairs, though neither of us cares, it's just something to do, it's just a fad that we're going through. And though I say it doesn't bother me, it bothers me. Who thought promiscuity could be so incredibly boring?
Now I see you waiting for the city bus, yeah, you're waiting for the #4. It's not that I resent, I just feel indifferent. Yeah, I've been through all of this before. Before the eagle scout, it was the comics nerd, and between the two the metalhead and the tweaker and the punk and the bi-curious drunk: it's a punchline each time I go to bed. And though I say it doesn't bother me, it bothers me. Who thought variety could inspire such ennui?
I'm from a generation raised on irony, or at least on thrift store clothes, so disjointedness should feel like Christmas, the mismatched and wry should feel like home. But lately my heart isn't in this shit, yeah, I want a little something more. No more trading card lovers, no more cum-stained covers, just an awesome babe who will help out with the household chores. And though I say it doesn't bother me, it bothers me. Who thought continuity could be such a rare commodity?
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