When you are a rock star like me, you wake up late.
You stumble to the kitchen to look for some grub – preferably greasy to help with the headache after sleeping for 12 hours, but that lady in the kitchen insists on things like oatmeal and yogurt. So you placate her with a few bites and then blow the joint.
You might take a quick swing in your Ferrari-Camaro-Lamborghini deal.
It might look like it’s lots of fun, but remember, you’re a rock star, and you have a reputation to uphold.
You are a tough, bad boy.
And if the world won’t… heeeeeeeeey.
What a fine looking fellow.
I might have to pause and take in that magnificent view.
And, yes, I’ll just give you a little mighty fine loving, too.
And one more time:
What a looker.
Now get the paparazzi out of my face!