Well, he did have a liver. Seriously, that liver was bad-ass. That liver had bitches and babies crying. I've never seen a liver like that one. I got drunk with that liver the other night, and he was all like, "Fuck all these n----s in here. Bring that shit to me, man." He said that to his mother. I'm telling you, that liver could give a good goddamn about any of you.
Having said all of this, that liver did mention something to me this morning, nuzzling up to my newly shaved face. He said to me, "damn baby-- you got that good power-u." What a damn fine liver.
Here are some favorites for this liver:
Favorite Beatle: George Lennon
Favorite Beer: Cold
Favorite Color: Blood fucking red
Favorite Real Estate Company: Century 21
Favorite Vagina Size: Shallow
Favorite Horrific Depression: Spiraling with a touch of melodramaticism
I wonder what type of Chia Pet that liver would like? I'm guessing the Classic Cat. I think I might call that liver back and try to ask him out on a date. That liver could be gay, right? Ah, hell. Who am I kidding? That liver loves his bitches like Mishima loves ritual suicide. Maybe I really am destined to die alone-- I mean when am I going to find a liver I really want to settle down with?
The answer is: hardly barely ever. God how I love you, that liver.
(Note: entire post based on Joe Morgan non-sequitur during Century 21 Home Run Derby. Also, fuck Italy.)