Old Balls

They like me. They follow me. They check me out and tell me how beautiful I am and how nice my outfit is. What the hell do old balls know about fashion? It creeps me out, makes me want to vomit, and I want to kick the old balls. I don't. In some weird way I feel sorry for the old balls, I mean they're old. They get no play. I hate the old balls not only for the awful things they do and make me feel, but for making me feel sorry for them. Damn it.