Everyone give it up for Clive. He’s joining us from the land of eternal comfort and the look on that face says it all. The guys been through a lot but he has somehow managed to keep his cool. My hat is tipped.
You’re either in style, or you’re out of it.
Ipod your baby.
This is the look my dad gets when he looks at…
…this picture of my mom!
I wear hats. It’s something I do. Eat, sleep, wear hats.
No mistaking it- see the guy I’m pointing at who is wearing a hat? That’s me.
By the mouth of three witnesses, I’ve been confirmed. Me, me and me.
Where do you go
lower lip, lower lip,
when I pull you in my mouth
so my drool won’t drip?
Are you running down my throat
with my tongue in your hand?
Are you banging on my gums
like pots and pans?
I’d be lying if I said I liked anything more than breastmilk. But an honorable mention must be given to sweet potatos, and the world of mashed food. I’ll admit that it doesn’t taste as good, but does that really matter when you can get big globs of it on your hands and rub it on your face as you eat. What better way to experience the food. Life is about experience as I’ve come to find out. If I could just open my mouth wide enough I’d fit the food, spoon, and that big hand thats bringing it, all into my mouth and give em all a good lick. That way they’d know I liked it too.