As I sit here, in my dank, subterranean abode, whiling away yet another Monday night accompanied by naught but my thoughts and the dulcet strains of REO Speedwagon, I find myself pondering the greater mysteries of life. Foremost being, how do I quantify a walk up to 7-11 to buy myself one last beer for the night (week)?
But, I think I’ve already answered my own question.
In order:
1) Oh, my fake paper girlfriend, why must you be such a tease?
2) This artist is represented all around my neighborhood, but this is one of my favorite pieces.
3) Mom?
4) Restroom philosophy, Pt. 2
5) Unfortunately, he didn’t leave his number. Sadness.
6) “But the hands we love so dear, are the hands we love to hear. Are the hands you give to us.”
7) Which is why, ultimately, Chuck Norris and Ted Nugent are fucking doomed. Doomed.
Until such time that X is in cosmic alignment with Y, make mine Marvel. Excelsior!
