DON'T LOOK BACK. YOU CAN NEVER LOOK BACK.
I want a motorcycle. I want a motorcycle, and I'm not joking.
All the pug-faced nothings of the world can't touch me on my motorcycle. Its engine is a violent aura, or Sekhmet out for blood, and the whole machine grinds like a bone saw. Nothing toughens the tendon like a hawk on wheels of fire. Studded leather vest, with extra fringe. Drink that mouthwatering daydream. No angels allowed.
Oh, shit. They found a cure for lovesickness.