Either kill me yourself, or stop complaining

A cat is a machine that turns proteins into violence.

“they never explicitly looked at the camera and said ‘i am experiencing immense grief’ so how was i supposed to know??” i don’t know what to tell you, man. if a story doesn’t spoon-feed you the character's internal emotional state like a jar of mashed peas, you guys just willingly starve. subtext is not a myth, i promise it won't bite you.

“what are you doing this weekend” i am going to fantasy land. i am hiding under the covers in bed. i am making things up. i am contemplating events that didnt happen. i am talking to fake people. i am listening to my tunes. i am envisioning scenarios

“I don’t like this song because I can’t relate to it” skill issue. I’m mad at my husband I love my girlfriend I’m a lone cowboy I’m growing old I’m growing up I’m depressed I love my friends I’m perpetually horny I’m drunk at the club I love my husband again

i’ve been so well-behaved i deserve to light things on fire now

U dont understand i had to write the first 70,000 words because if i didnt the sex wouldnt be as perilous or emotionally fraught. Which is the POINT.

let's all go out and buy pink refreshing citrusy fruity sexually arousing drinks