professional fool

still believe that one of the greatest bits of all time was on January 6th, 2021 when. well. you know. and twitter was understandably an echo chamber of panic and fear and Justin McElroy just tweeted a selfie with a filter that was like “have a delicious national spaghetti day” followed by 3 tweets that were like “fuck. i’m sorry. i don’t know how to delete scheduled posts” and as i type this two years later i’m laughing

the worst person you know thinks they're super empathetic. the kindest person you know thinks they're fucked up and evil

I follow the "leave nothing but footprints take nothing but photos" rule of state/national parks yeah because conservation. But also because when I was 11 i read a short story about a girl who went to a museum and stole a bandage flake off a mummy on display with the mentality of "im just one person one piece won't be missed" then at night she was visited by the mummy and it plucked a single hair from her head and then the next night a different mummy took another hair and she realized that there were only so many pieces to her before there would be nothing left and that story was forever wedged in my brain. Anyways leave cool rocks where you find them or the mummies will get you

Lady in drive through had a bearded dragon sitting on her boobs and she held it up and let me pet it. killing myself canceled

you have the kidney/liver backwards. advil and other nsaids cause kidney damage and tylenol causes liver damage

life is better when you're not malnourished btw

its so scary making plans with new friends. what if i suggest something stupid and we have a terrible time and they find out im a fraud and not a real human being

please invent an imaginary friend to go to a museum with this winter please for the love of all things holy

please also remember that your imaginary friend is not a fucking deity and does not exist outside of your head... we have created enough fake gods in our history, we don't need anymore.

feed it with blood and devotion. court it with candles and incense. chant its name in the small hours of the night. Stephanie, the Goddess of Being Slightly Less Socially Anxious In Museums, is already stepping coltishly out of the sea foam and the dawn has never been so bright.

There’s an emotion only unlocked when you live in a house with multiple stories. I call it “the stair emotion” and it’s when you realize the object you need is on the other side of yet another trip up and down those goddamn stairs. It’s the closest I get to transcending the desire for material goods. Maybe I don’t need that notebook. Maybe I don’t need anything.