See That Wednesday Adams Ass Lookin' Mothafugga?

Dreary Wednesdays will always remind me of this girl Nicole who used to date my friend. She was the most miserable person to ever set their eyes on the Hollywood sign. Well, that might be overstating it, but probably not by a whole lot. Benton coined her Wednesday Adams, an apt moniker for our drab-feathered friend who wore only black and lived with her cat, the Nobel Catastroph', a tyrant feline she swore was "29% Wild," but was going to be 88.88% dead if it didn't stop scratching the crap out of me. I recall it's exact domesticity, a figure so inconceivably ridiculous I still can't bring myself to try and explain why.

She was 27 and would constantly tell us she couldn't believe she was hanging out with people five years her junior. We all liked her though because she was a big fan of Hall & Oates, and I'm dead serious, because that was abnormally endearing. Since I have no photographic evidence of this woman I am just going to post a picture of her father and some old coot that thought it'd be funny to jump in front of the camera right before the photographer took the picture but then immediately realized he would have to be still for the next 20 minutes or it would just come out blurry:



Here is my Aural Ode On A Grecian Urn to
Wednesday Adams (zshare MP3)