Ever fumble the ball just before making it into the end zone? You have now. Your multicultural democracy was within reach. Gen X teed that shit up for you in the ‘90s. The Boomers taught us how to do it. You never saw that fucker’s fist coming to pop that ball out, did you? What the fuck we gotta do to ensure three-points-of-contact are maintained by our ball carriers? This is goddamn fundamental. Your lead blocker Print being pancaked was a challenge, sure… but Social Media lit your ass up—stepped on your face with a hobnail boot and broke your nose. So, now the ball’s out. Adjustments must be made addressing this mismatch; but, what are doing, now? The play’s not over. Loose ball fucker.

… You don’t have to follow me. Only you can set you free

Raise your hand if you find me antisemitic. I bet we could make an interesting conversation.

Kinda weird… telling yourself you aren’t special knowing full well that subconsciously (if not consciously) you totally think you’re fucking special. Like… you’re consciously trying to push back against being a giant douche… but neither conscience nor subconscious will cease calling you Summer…

Which bit of our DNA sequence is it that serves as our unique identifier (and database key)? I want to check the logs. This is a long ass time to wait for what most deem essential. Was my name called while I wasn’t paying attention? What happens then? Is my purpose held for me or simply discarded?

46… just realized why hot air rises… #MentalGiant

I have a theory about the shape of the Satellite of Love in Mystery Science Theater 3000.

What should it look like?

How about a giant knob?

Sooo many spaceships are designed to look like giant knobs.

Then, what if it looked like a pair of those f$&kers collided… head on, so to speak?

The word honestly sure moves about mouths gently for a term that implicitly indicates some proceeding falsification or the suspicion thereof.

It’s like my subconscious is ceaselessly tormenting my waking mind with fits of made-you-look salting that cornstarch styrofoam-flavored meal of unremarkable object shoutouts actively labeling the world refracted by our roll down car window.

Okay science guys, why is it feasible to remove urine and shit (and whatever else we are flushing) from our drinking water but not a bit f$&king salt?

Everything about Frum’s conclusion is wrong. Is 4a, I’m going back to sleep.

…something’s gotta turn out right

It is kinda fucked that meaning uses a buy-in model.

…in silent lucidity

You know how when you become aware of your own voice inside your head… and, suddenly, it’s like it is just there, all the time… and your like, “Guess this is me talking to me… wait, or is it my subconscious… no, no it can’t be my subconscious. I never know the horseshit my subconscious is up to until after the fact. What am I even thinking about? Am I thinking about thinking? Frivolous, drivelous, liquid dish … wait… liquid dish? The first two, okay… but are we just randomly rhyming now? Why did that pop into my head? Who is speaking? Why do things pop into my head in the first place? Must you… I… be so verbose? How do I change the log level? What is the most dreadful, terrible, awful thing you could thing of ever happening to someone you love? WHYYYYYYYYY?” until some time later you realize that little voice must be napping on account of the quiet? My voice ain’t had a wink of sleep in years now. Fucker.

I wonder how many untrue things I could say before someone tried to stop me.

Also, no f$&king clue why the tail verse of Silent Lucidity by Queensrÿche suddenly crept into my head as I dreamt this morning (a dream within which I was fully aware) just before my arrival in the waking world.

What a pickle. I can’t tell if I’m trying too hard to try or if I need to try harder to try to try.

My poetic farts just went melodic; but, they’re in the style of Faith No More’s Angel Dust.

I know how much potential I’ve spent decades wasting… but I wonder what that figure looks like globally.

Okay, I’ll bite. Who TF is going around saying “persons” instead of “women and girls”?

Why are you reading this?

Were my ambition and moral ambiguity a match for this moment, no doubt I’d find a way to make a killing pumping out powerful, contextually ambiguous memes like the ones y’all eat TF up (but actually artsy). Feed both bubbles 🙌 .

Can you believe those fuckers, calling this little beauty an old hag.

Wait… did I seriously just now get the lyrics of Rocket Man?

If you keep being this stupid, I want try watching you in the morning anymore, Joe.