4 May 2012
Why do you sit there, in all your pustular and resplendent glory; drawing, nay; commanding all attention to your great mass? Why do you swell with volcanic proportion and malicious intention, surveying all the kingdom of flesh ready to be ploughed and spotted with your royal seed?
What is it about my skin that has nourished you so? What expedient mutations have you developed, to so laugh in the face of twice-daily applied Clearasil?
Fellows: Do not decry me as racist for my near fanatic dedication to the whitest of heads.
Pimple • Opuss № I