You've been neglected. You're like a sad, starving Ethiopian child, that's how neglected you are.
You're like a homeless paperboy living on the streets of New York City.
You're a wet, scrawny puppy with fleas and tumors.
You're a rusting old Chevy swarming with cats in the yard of a trailer park.
You're so neglected, morning glory is twisting around your body, slowly suffocating you.
You're like a blind person's book shelf and a deaf person's guitar.
You're a 300-pound middle-aged man's treadmill.
And that's neglected. We're talking inches of dust.
You're the wrinkly lingerie of a 68-year-old widow.
You're a college student's vacuum cleaner, a teenage boy's cupcake tin.
You, my friend, are Furby.
And I apologize for that, Blog and non-existent readers.