In my next life, I’m coming back as a beautiful woman. Sure, you’ve got all the pawing and molestations to endure as a child, but you soften that blow with a little Xanax and move on into an adulthood where you can pretty much do whatever the hell you want. Work, don’t work. Marry a professional athlete, don’t marry. Have kids, don’t have kids. Teen through forty the world is going to be your goddamn oyster. I’d probably drink a lot. But people will cover for your addictions. Pick you up and doll you up and make you pretty for the cameras again. There’s no monarch that ever had the power of a fine woman with a killer bikini ass. That’s who I’m coming back as. That or Randy Rhoads.
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