Life can be a real piece of shit, you know? D:
Yeah, but not all the time.
Actually, yeah… ALL the time.
“I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.”Pablo Neruda
My God. I can’t breathe.
A few weeks ago a friend told me it was obvious that I put a lot of time, effort, and thought into my text messages.
It was simultaneously a really nice thing to say and a damning illustration of how stupid my life is and the dumb directions in which I choose to focus my energy.
- covered in honey
- riding a bear
- made of marshmallows
- constantly thinking about pie
- made of boners
- has a superintelligent tapeworm
- terrified of kittens
- still bitter about the last episode of LOST
- can’t stop twerking
- must consult a magic 8 ball before each attackI feel pretty good about them.
I can’t wait to come over and be drunk when I Superfight my Zombie who is 100 Stories Tall and Can’t Stop Twerking against your George W. Bush who is Covered in Honey and Riding a Bear.
Jesus Christ I cannot wait for this fucking game…
(100 story tall twerking zombie takes this fight in a walk. It’s not explicitly mentioned, but you just KNOW Bush is probably drunk and he’ll fall off the bear and get eaten as a delicious honey covered snack before he even gets to the venue.)