Dear "Lips of an Angel":
I regret to inform you that you are currently the most annoying song on radio. Your band, Hinter (or is it Hinder? I can't tell), has a creepy jones to be Nickleback, and that's a large part of the problem, but you'd still be stupid if a different performer tried to do something with you.
For one thing, the Angel Lips on the phone probably isn't any better than the current girlfriend in the next room. She's your ex, and maybe you never had breakup sex, but if she were still sitting on the couch with PMS watching "Stepmom" on cable clutching a tissue, she'd still be a pain. But now she's gone. She's taken that lstrawberry-flavored lipgloss with her on a trip to the land of the girls whose pants you can't get into, which makes her that much better than the girl who's in the living room, or the kitchen, or the conservatory, or whatever the next room is who glares at you for leaving the seat up.
Man, remember when you were with Angel Lips? Things were so much better back then. Maybe you should see if she'd get back together with you... or if she'd just meet you at some cheap motel on the outskirts of town. There could be a whole 'nother song about that! And then one about how Couch Girl kicked your ass...
More than likely Angel Lips just called to say she left some bath gel under your sink, and that was expensive bath gel, and could you drop it by the front desk of her workplace, because she'd like it back--but not enough to see your ugly mug to get it.
So here's my easy solution to your problems: Go take a shower and whack off, which will get your hormones in check. Then pack up whatever it is she wants, drop it off, shut up about it, and I won't tell Couch Girl that you've been thinking about cheating on her.
And don't worry too much. Panic! at the Disco's terrier of a song is nipping at your heels.
On behalf ofthe listening public,
Eyeroll
