It's true. I love Moo. I will dedicate my life to pleasing, Moo. If there was a way to live without Moo, I wouldn't do it. That is how dedicated I am to Moo. If Moo were a leave-in conditioner, I would leave it in everyday. That is how dedicated I am to Moo. If planes landed on Osama Bin Ladin's head, and he cried out "Moo!" I would take the word from his mouth and marry it. If there was such a thing as Moo pancakes, I would grill them in the morning and then eat them without syrup because I am watching my weight. So much Moo! Muchas Moo!! If Moo were a religion that Jim Morrison abstained from like a person in Congress might do courteously, then I would disagree with the gentleman from Delaware and make wild love to Moo. I would do it with Moo in the bathroom. I would tell Moo that I scratched my balls and sniffed them. I would paint Moo's toenails. I would milk myself for Moo. That is how much I moo, Moo. If I were Uma Thurman and Quentin Tarintino told me how to spell his name correctly, I would tell him to shut the fuck up because I am trying to listen to Moo. I would be like, "Shut up, please! Moo is fucking speaking!!" These days when Moo isn't in my life I feel like cleaning dishes or sobbing. When Moo turns on the lights in my house when it is dark, it is like she breeds radiant fixtures. I would like everyone to know Moo. I will send you a postcard of me and Moo. It will be a picture of us in a field. We will be knee-high in grass. You will say, "What were you doing with, Moo?" And I will say, "I was making love to Moo. She is my everything. I would die for her. Don't you understand? Get out of my fucking face, you Moo-poseur! Out!!" Now that Moo has come into my life I think I will finally settle down and die. That is how much I drink the testicle strength of Moo. I fall down fellatio-flat for Moo. My life is for Moo. Moo me. Seriously. I am Moo. 

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