Michael has stared at my ass probably more than any other man I know, but that's his own damn fault for being a drummer. It's kind of sad, considering that my ass is nowhere near George Michael video quality. It's a good thing I'm always wearing pants — no, wait...that's not entirely true. There was that night in Erie, Pennsylvania. There was also that night at the Continental back in 97. I'm afraid to continue this line of thought further.
No comments:
Post a Comment