I look at The Boy's head and sing in my own, "Curls, curls, curls!" a la Motley Crue. Vince Neil is no longer belting out The Crue's homage to favorite strip clubs. Now he's singing about my son's beautiful curls. I can't help it. I wish I could commission them to re-write the entire song in his honor instead. Maybe I'll head to the L.A. spot I saw Nikki Sixx hanging out at to see if this is at all a possibility.
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