While playing tennis, when I reach the score of "forty-love," I can't help but think of Hole's lead singer.
There I am, just one point from winning the game, but I distract myself with thoughts of "Malibu," drug rehab, and Cobain's suicide. Before my mind stops wandering and I regain focus, I'll find myself at deuce, now having to compete for the game rather than easing into victory.
HOW MANY LIVES MUST YOU RUIN, FOURTNEY LOVE?!
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