| Tuesday, November 12, 2002 |
 | Still, there's more to life than abusing grayven images; there's poetry, art, and the sweet recollection of music.
The sweet recollection of music I am thinking of right now, inexplicably, is a song rehearsed but, to my knowledger, never recorded, by a friend of the younger brother of an old girlfriend. Which is pretty damn random. However. This song, which I firmly believe should take its place among the great love songs (specifically, slap-bang next to "I Will Always Love You" by Whitney Houston) had the heartwarming chorus:
I'm gonna come, come,
Come all over your face.
I'm gonna come, come,
Come all over your FUCKING FACE
There's no arguing with sentiments like that. There is only room for a Marti Pellow-style sweet surrender. Hmmm...Marti Pellow facials. Nice.
So, for lovers of Marti Pellow everywhere, here's a complete guide to face-based spuffery. Drive carefully.
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