Sl&ER.webp // READ BIO

as you know one of the problems of english is that you can't capitalize "I" for emphasis because it's already capitalized

aborted abortion doctor: yea thats what i woulda did

I get that sex and drugs are fun but even im like. at least have a 3rd thing. at least one more hobby. you can have a 3rd hobby. this isnt a purity thing this is a some of u are fucking boring thing.

rock & roll

girl i just walked into that one like a coyote with a painted tunnel

People who interpret "character playlist" as "playlist of songs the character would listen to" as opposed to the good and honorable "playlist that represents the character" are so alien they're chasing me and my cat around the spaceship. That metaphor got away from me. Much like the cat

Link to his gallery

unmute for the love of god please it's amazing

to think I would have just swiped past on mute, therefore not hearing pure unadulterated joy

The masculine urge to become a mountain man. Only come off the mountain twice a year to get supplies. Farm and harvest and hunt and build everything else. Talk to myself constantly. Stop coming into town for a few years after the age of 76. The sheriff finally comes up to check on me and finds the door to my shack wide open and my skeletonized body lying in bed, tucked up under the covers. They all forgot my name so they just put ‘Mountain Man’ on my tombstone. Shack left to decay but I’m not quite done having fun. My ghost lures lost hikers in and makes them keep me company. They come off the mountain rambling about the crazy old man in the hand hewn log cabin with fire in his eyes and leaves on the floor. I was alone in life but I don’t want to be lonely in death.

Whew guys sorry about that! Had a funny turn for a moment. Back to normal now.

If you asked Todd, he would know my name. 93 years old, blind as a bat with arthritis so bad he can’t move his fingers, rotting away in that horrible place his niece put him. He’d know. A smile would come to his dry lips to think of me, his fellow mountain man. He can no longer see but in his mind he sees me the way I was, in overalls with my rifle over my shoulder hunting squirrels. He knows my name but he dares not speak it. The words on my grave a more worthy epitaph. I wait for him on the mountain. None of the hikers that stumble in are ever him. He’ll return shortly, I’m sure. I’ll make him coffee on the wood stove one day. We’ll share some venison. He’ll come back from the holler. I know he will.

whatever man fuck you *slides my opacity setting down to 0*