tyrone, i hate to admit it, but your mustache turns me on

you want to know something? i haven't a clue where that title came from. i feel like no one is ever even named tyrone in reality. it's like an 80's gay black man name. if it somehow makes me racist/homophobic to say that, I apologize, I did not mean to offend, that is just my perception of the name tyrone. you know, i keep mis-typing tyrone, and it ends up as try one. try one of tyrone's bones, they're all alone. in the zone. on the phone. the poetry of my soul just oozes out of my pores, i can't control it. i don't even find mustaches attractive. or tyrones. i really have nothing of value to say. what is there to talk about? my patheticism. shit we're returning to self-pity. NO! i refuse. tyrone. TYRONE. my soulmate's name will be tyrone. and he will have a fucking badass tom seleck mustache. you know, like that guy from three guys and a baby or whatever that movie is called. that movie sucked anyway. it was an 80's movie. like tyrone. the way my brain works makes me a little worried about my future. sometimes i feel like my only friend is the city I live in, the city of medicine, lonely as I am, together we cry. medicine just isn't as nice as angels. what is durham? the city of assholes is more like it. seriously, i don't think I even have a train of thought. more like a DATA-bus-with-a-drunken-bum-at-the-wheel of thought. train implies tracks, which implies a definite route, a direction, a place you are trying to get to. i have none of that. tyrone is alone, waiting for the phone, getting stoned, running from life with a moan. poor tyrone.