Now, I know most of you chalky, yuppy, degenerate, spiritually constipated assholes like to coo about your inner children, and generally feed said children a healthy diet of beer and porn.
Not me.
Instead, I have an Inner Bunions. He's a crusty curmudgeon that longs for the Good Ol' Days and paisley bow ties. He don't need your respect, neither; he don't pay no man no mind. In fact, you can shove it up your puckered ass, because he's blowing this popsicle stand, bitch.
Did I mention he's also a doctor? He's got a nasty habit of inspecting beautiful boys of eighteen. Mothers, hide your sons, Dr. Bunions is coming to town.
Other than that, he's a jolly old man. Like Santa. Except without the good humor, presents, nifty costume, and wife. Actually, he's not like Santa at all. He's too angry and geriatric for all that Christmas bullshit, so don't expect a present.
- mr. bunions be pimpin'.
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