Tuesday, January 13, 2009
I caught you baby. I caught you in red velvet, wearing big goofy classes, tacky jewelry and dancing under the disco ball. That only means one thing: You are a closet Elton John fan. I was onto you when you sang "Tiny Dancer" at that karaoke bar in Philly. Every time you had one too many pina colada's a British accent would work it's way into your drunken babble. You're strange fascination with boa's and sequins. You can't fool me baby. I knew. Deep down I knew all along. Just don't let me catch you dressing yup like this guy.