What's this? Are we fighting over Troubadour now? Somebody post a pic, I have to see what I'm fighting for. Not that it matters. All I look for in a woman is intellect and a sense of humor. And a pulse.

This poem is perfect and I don't think you should change anything. Love is never pretty. Ever.

Damn it, man. You popped my happy bubble.
Chaz Nasty do not pick on Troubadour! Only I can pick on Troubadour here! You are not yet worthy!

Baby, you can come latch on to my teat anytime.

Or better yet, a clown rolled in glitter. But I like the dark stuff. Troubadour needs to latch onto the teat again. It's a cruel world out here, sweetheart. You're too soft for it.

God man, thanks so much for the ray of freaking sunshine. You depress the living hell out of me. This poem needs some glitter and a clown or two. Jeez.