G for your grotesque grease-stain glow because you think you look like a rockstar when you don’t bathe.
E for your Elway-esque passes at my friends, expressing your ugly urges to score in their end zones.
T for taking out that trashy waitress from T.G.I. Friday’s when I was I was out of town.
O for the outrageous outnumbering of your orgasms to my zer-Oh!
U for my unfortunately under-touched undercarriage, unless you’ve got too much motor oil in your system.
T for your Tic-Tacked tongue and how it tortured my mouth like a rusty tool poking at a dying fire.
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