original sinner

hey. don't cry. I went to Mad At You island and none of your friends were there :)

Wild caught clownfish will be like ‘hm you see, the anemone you got me is a slightly different color and tentacle width than the one I had back home, so I will not begin hosting it. I’ll be a sort of wandering ronin for the rest of my days.’ And then a captive bred clownfish will be like ‘ok so I have this curved rock I found and I just sit above it and it take care of me 👍’

I get knocked down—OWWWWUUUUHHHHH but I get up again, youre n–I get knocked dow—STOPPPPP ITTTTTTT

not everything is getting worse. at least you don't hear high hopes by panic at the disco every day anymore

God will see you at the lowest point of your life, and say "what the fuck I thought I killed that thing." But you skitter too fast and you are too creepy.

At this point I've seen like three unconnected pieces of American media set in a superficially idyllic small town with a big fuckoff lake that functions as a liminal boundary between the Known and the Unknown and in which a major character attempts suicide by drowning, and now I'm wondering if the Liminal Death Lake is just a thing American small towns have.

early to bed and early to rise leaves a man so fucked up that he dies

A HAMMERHEAD????

i think it has something to do with your hate for people with health conditions

which is disgusting