Hey, Chesty Deigndoun, sometime—sometime why don’t you just—get out of your insidious I, I, I; your primping, pouting me, me, me, me drama; your profane my, my, my orgasm; our salacious mine, mine, mine plundering. Get out of yourself, Chesty, and look up at the sun, and know it is not a glowing light bulb, … Continue reading Somebody Finally Tells Chesty →