I’ve met a lot of cactus’ in my day, but you sir, are the fucking prick. You act like you’re so poetic and intelligent, but in reality, you’re just another pretentious hipster. I can’t believe I thought you were worth it. Put down the guitar, you’re not Jimi Hendrix. —How’s that for coming at you like a door knob?
This article appears in Feb 6-12, 2014.
Hello Knob. The cactus can be looked at through diametric materliasm as a metaphore for the disease of bourgeios capitalism. The people yearn for the tasty pulp, but are deterred by the spines of miltarism. Only by wielding the hammer of justice and the sickle of freedom can the tasty pulp be deliveredd to the yearning masses.
I’ve met many a cactus in my life…it’s called Tequila.
Tequila. Straight-guy panty-remover for gay men.
Saint Meaty the only panties worth removing are 200 hundred dollar panties. My artist boyfriend loves removing mine. He likes to pretend we are playing a game and makes me wear an expensive paper bag over my head while he wears a clothespin on his nose. He said he saw it in an expensive porn once.
It’s cacti right GV!!
So if I were you, I’d run out that door while I still had a chance. I’d also waste 5 precious minutes of my head start in the race to freedom, giving that swell guy Archer a combination thank-you-goodbye blow job.