Just Think · 9 October 2001
Right now there is a teenage boy standing before a full-length mirror with an unamplified guitar strung low: preening, striking poses, his face distorted with pain as he wails plink-plink through some tuneless scattershot dick-swinging solo; his body surging with pleasure as he pictures every girl he ever met, in the front row, lifting their shirts at once.
The dumb fuck.
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