I don’t know if what I’m about to confess will peg me as a complete weirdo, but I’ve long stopped caring about what other people think, especially when it comes to my health; and honestly I gotta vent to someone about this right now because if I don’t I will go mad.
I think about the Twins. I think about the Twins a lot. Probably more than most people do, more than those who are really close to the Twins. This is odd because blondes really aren’t my type; I much prefer brunettes. Black or brown. That’s my thing. But still, I can’t stop myself from looking at the Twins, thinking about the Twins, dreaming about the Twins.
And if you look at them up close — like really close — you’ll notice many imperfections. Yes, they are beautiful, but not in the traditional sense. They’re not real bright either. And they embarrass themselves by, you know, talking. They’re so far removed from reality too… yet I still can’t get them out of my mind.
Because the Twins are a supreme tease really. I know I can’t take them seriously — not in any capacity — yet they never seem to go away either.
Then, every once in a while, I’ll let my mind wander… to a place where it’s just me. Me and the Twins. Hangin’ out… havin’ fun… doin’ stuff.
So no matter how hot they are, how hot they get, how hot they are together, with or without me, at the end of the day, they are related to one another and, well, folks, that’s just gross.
Hate me ‘cuz I made you realize you think about them too, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(*Image courtesy of Hollywood Tuna)