I Should Change My Stuff

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i would trust weird al with my drink at a party. granted he may put one of those capsules that expands into a sponge animal in it,

anyway I was having this very vivid and unaccountably funny dream about what I suppose you would call a heist crew, except their MO was less about stealing and more about breaking into rich shitheads' houses to throw absolute ragers and trash the place and then disappear into the night. it was all very sleek and admittedly even sexy but the main thing I remember about this dream is that the leader of the group, who's exactly the kind of smooth young hotshot you think he is, was always in the process of getting spectacularly dumped at these parties. always a different woman. months of planning and stress and then when he should be in his element kicking back, accepting congratulations on all sides, man of the hour, he's getting dumped. again. and his whole crew is watching with a very low amount of sympathy because they love the guy but ooooh they know better than anyone that he deserves this. what the fuck was my subconscious cooking with this.

I feed my white son clear broth

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The eye doctor is the most fun doctor you can go to. They never steal your blood. They never make you get naked and put on a paper dress. They're just like, "Can you see these letters? It's fine if you can't, we can fix that." And they don't even spell anything.

Every time I go they put me in a chair and they say look into this machine there's a hot air balloon or a farmhouse in there and I do and I'm like you're right I see it and they're like yeah keep admiring that hot air balloon or farmhouse and I do and I'm like this shit's quaint as fuck and then do you know what happens next they attack me they jumpscare me with air directly into my eyeballs and i fall out the chair and they say sorryyyy but they're NOT they wanted this to happen they KNEW about the jumpscare well now I'm wise to it now I know better when I go in and they say look at this bodacious hot air balloon I'm like NO WAY DUDE that balloon wishes me harm have at thee and I attack them and push them on the ground and spit on them

I looked the book up. the main character's name is Tookie De La Crème

ugh, that feeling of stuck panic but no actual moving is the worst.

Every time I see people misconstruing the definition of punk for meaningless semantic discourse I mentally substitute "punk" for "electro swing"

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Get your ducks in a row. Now get them in a circle. Get them in a Socratic seminar with that duck in the middle. Get them in a mosh pit. Get them moshing. Get them moshing.

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the sewing machine is like if a horse and an inkjet printer had a child

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As per my last clay tablet,

CCing Ibbi-Ilabrat on this one just to make sure we’re all on the same page!

“The sesame is visibly dying” makes me lose it every time. My sesame #mysesame

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