a martyr for jesters everywhere

Vodka & benadryl got me feeling like a oyster

Like the thing is ultimately I believe it really is no biggies. Like hey guys, it’s no biggie.

it's a smallie, even

10 times outta nine you take a look back and turns out it was a smallie

Well as a "fan" I would be "serviced" by some THEMES AND MOTIFS #themesandmotifs #artwithmeaning

the thing about talking to people about psychiatric abuse is that you quickly learn that there are dozens and dozens of ppl around you who experienced unspeakable trauma at the hands of the psych industry in all its iterations and we just walk through the world inundated by messages re: carceral 'recovery' and 'healing' and 'wellness' silent and sucking ourselves in & choking back the memory of what we endured and feeling as though we're alone, truly alone, lacking even the last names of the people we suffered alongside, but we're literally everywhere, all we need to do is reach out and touch each other

hmm... this highly personal vent post seems like the perfect place to lay my roleplay egg...

you’re just jealous my blood is all over the floor and yours is stuck inside your body

Your heart is not true enough to enter the gates of Margaritaville

:33 < sighhhhh... is it pure enough for kokomo atleast? I need SOMETHING to look forward to....

Actually, Nepeta from Homestuck, you're good to come in

My Name is 8 PM. and I am always arriving when you atrent Looking

M Nm s 8 PM. nd m lws rrvng whn y trnt Lkng

if you two had a baby it would be a regular sentence. or perhaps silence.

‎

Right.

one time I went over to a friend's house and their housemate was making paper in the living room, and we saw this big tub full of water they were using to dissolve old scrap paper into a slurry, and everyone was immediately like "oh, you need scrap paper?" and started turning out their jacket pockets and producing expired coupons and bus tickets and crumpled receipts and old shopping lists and whatever else they'd been carrying round with them for no good reason, and passing it all to the paper-making housemate to make sure it was suitable before it got torn up and dropped into the tub, while people took turns stirring the slurry with a big wooden stick. it was strangely ritualistic, like presenting an offering to some kind of temple elder for inspection before placing it in a watery shrine to be devoured and reformed. pulp for the pulp god.

leave no noob unpwned

Mommy doesn't get it. Explain the joke. Explain the joke for Mommy.