So once upon a time AOC got into some jam with some thugs. They put her down on the ground out in the street so they could make her “bite the curb”.
It didn’t work. When they stomped on her neck the concrete beneath those horse teeth crumbled into dust. Never punch a gift horse in the mouth?
Alright, just so we are all clear, the pith helmet was NOT developed as an emergency field urinal for British soldiers with a lisp.
These fucking emojis are going to become our hieroglyphics. Some day, centuries from now, some unfortunate well digger is going to strike some of our sad remains. They’ll be the remnants of a species left with stunted speech through their descent into irrelevance. They’ll puzzle this curiosity and wonder, in whatever tongue they understand, and say “What the fuck was wrong with these people?”
9AM is the critical hour in my daily calendar. At 9AM I must decide whether it will be a day for tea or whiskey. Whiskey is on a long winning streak.
Sad poetry is porn for Goth Girls. Can’t quit ’em…. I think it’s the eyeliner. Or the boots….
It makes no difference what kind of suit you wear. If you are selling shit then you are still a shit salesman. I guess those who are proud of it feel the need to dress up for the occasion.
All you need to understand human behavior is to understand animal behavior. Human behavior is essentially the same, except that with humans one must begin with the knowledge that each and every one of them are fucked up. There’s your diversity….we are all fucked up in our very own special way.