CONTINUE? / NEW GAME?

i’m a 100% organic gangster.

another drink wouldn’t hurt— i only live two years.

anxiety and caffeine are having a cockfight in my brain.

oh. you’re an artist.

as always, all i should have said was, ‘i love you.’

you’ve been through hell and come out singing.

i puke in my kids’ mouths.

birds are creepy.

oh, i’m sorry— did i just blow your mind?

i hope you’ll excuse my cheap wit, but the hour is late and it’s all i have left.

i’d sell you to satan for one corn chip.

my crazy runs wide and it runs deep.

da fuq?

dealing with you is like herding cats.

i work hard at my job, but i suspect i’m purely decorative.

i’m a dirty bird.

i disembowel. it’s what i do.

don’t judge— i clean up real nice.

my only crime was that i was down to clown.

drink. travel. books. i went broke. but i had a hell of a time.

they might have passed a very pleasant evening had shit not gotten real.

evolve.

he proclaimed his undying fidelity and asked me to do the same.

i had to overcome my desire to laugh.

finally he gathered himself together and spoke, ‘what the hell?’

i’m always exchanging frequent flyer miles for guilt trips.

god can’t help you now.

he gave them the heebie-jeebies. he had nothing else to give.

mind if i just hum?

i’m humanphobic.

i do not go to my happy place. i go to my high lonesome place.

i have a natural talent for being irrational.

a financially unstable mess— but at the liquor store they call me ma’am.

looking for trouble, and if i cannot find it, i will create it.

i meditate mostly for a 15 minute break from this ongoing shitshow.

my modus operandi is the dial up of the awesome and break the knob off.

my self care begins and ends with edibles.

oh jesus. oh my god.

i couldn’t afford a therapist, so i decided, ‘hey, why not start a podcast?’

i poop on fascists.

the risk i took was calculated but man, am i bad at math.

she was lovely and charming, almost a saint. she enjoyed laughter and dancing, opera, jazz, and getting very, very, very high.

my self care begins and ends with wine.

i’d sell you to satan for one corn chip.

i’ve never been one to half-ass shenanigans.

the ability to remain sober and gracious is, indeed, a form of mild insanity.

i would look into your soul, but i’ve already devoured it.

things just got super weird— it’s my time to shine.

you’re three ounces of whoop-ass.

i’m worth two in the bush.

i love you despite the warning signs.

whom.

“ — and a dishonest woman you can always trust to be dishonest. honestly! it’s the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they’re going to do something incredibly … stupid. ”  /  captain jack sparrow. written by meaghan. 

       he’s high and she’s intoxicated ( in a classy way ) and wearing his hat, but everything that shouldn’t be funny is now hilarious. somewhere out there, straight shooter nick valentine is metaphorically rolling his eyes at them. 

             she’s deep into her impression of him when flecks of spit from his raspberry land on her cheek and send her flopping to the hard ground. later, she’ll sport some bruises, right now it’s just more reason to laugh. 

        “that was a cheap shot – ! what kind of mayor are you? you dick.”