Who are you? What is that? Where am I?
I'm covered in bruises.
I'm bleeding.
I smell like a whiskey factory.
I'm coughing up pieces of my left lung.
I broke my watch.
And I lost my phone.
It could only be the day after my nephew's first birthday party.
I met his mother freshman year of high school in English class.
She's married, settled down, looking to buy a house.
I'm twenty-seven and as far as I know I don't even own a fork.
Listening to NPR the other week, apparently 666 is not the number of the beast, it's actually 616.
It's been an inexplicably strange month.
I almost set a girl's face on fire.
I had to go to court...twice.
A nectarine exploded in my bag.
I (finally) learned how to shotgun a beer.
I feel like I've been having other people's dreams.
Listening to a man from Kentucky talk about the time five tons of concrete fell on his head and how he hears the voice of his dead wife.
I wanted to respond, "So does this mean you're single? I'm really into blunt force head trauma."
This week I'll be proofing a half sleeve sketch. A tattoo in honor of my mom. She got back from holiday this month and got me a beaded Hello Kitty coin purse. I'm going to use it to hold bandages. Evidently I cannot get out of a car without breaking skin and rupturing three arteries.
Other Presents from my Mom Include:
Red polyester Tom and Jerry drawstring pajama pants
When I wear them I look like a recently discharged cutter from the local insane asylum.
A bright turquoise t-shirt with a frilly flower application in the front
It looks way better with accessories such as PayLess mesh slippers, eczema, and a tornado beaten trailer.
A double extra large Maui t-shirt with native flowers from her trip to Hawaii
I think she shops for the fifteen year old me. The one with sixty extra pounds constantly circulating a stream of antidepressants.
A watch of Chairman Mao Tse-Tung waving, but it actually looks suspiciously like he's getting ready to smoke some cock.
I broke that fucker exactly ten hours later. Kinda sad. It was starting to grow on me.
I'm bleeding.
I smell like a whiskey factory.
I'm coughing up pieces of my left lung.
I broke my watch.
And I lost my phone.
It could only be the day after my nephew's first birthday party.
I met his mother freshman year of high school in English class.
She's married, settled down, looking to buy a house.
I'm twenty-seven and as far as I know I don't even own a fork.
Listening to NPR the other week, apparently 666 is not the number of the beast, it's actually 616.
It's been an inexplicably strange month.
I almost set a girl's face on fire.
I had to go to court...twice.
A nectarine exploded in my bag.
I (finally) learned how to shotgun a beer.
I feel like I've been having other people's dreams.
Listening to a man from Kentucky talk about the time five tons of concrete fell on his head and how he hears the voice of his dead wife.
I wanted to respond, "So does this mean you're single? I'm really into blunt force head trauma."
This week I'll be proofing a half sleeve sketch. A tattoo in honor of my mom. She got back from holiday this month and got me a beaded Hello Kitty coin purse. I'm going to use it to hold bandages. Evidently I cannot get out of a car without breaking skin and rupturing three arteries.
Other Presents from my Mom Include:
Red polyester Tom and Jerry drawstring pajama pants
When I wear them I look like a recently discharged cutter from the local insane asylum.
A bright turquoise t-shirt with a frilly flower application in the front
It looks way better with accessories such as PayLess mesh slippers, eczema, and a tornado beaten trailer.
A double extra large Maui t-shirt with native flowers from her trip to Hawaii
I think she shops for the fifteen year old me. The one with sixty extra pounds constantly circulating a stream of antidepressants.
A watch of Chairman Mao Tse-Tung waving, but it actually looks suspiciously like he's getting ready to smoke some cock.
I broke that fucker exactly ten hours later. Kinda sad. It was starting to grow on me.