The power of anonymity is scary. SCARY scary. I could pretty much write whatever I want right now, like, “I love Burt Bacharach” and you would have to just sit there and take it. I guess you could try and sue the paper for libel, but you’d be pretty stupid to move from your comfortable chair.
Monday’s forecast: I also enjoy Garfield. Just try and track me down.
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“dusty rusty crusty musty ass california hills”
“frowning in plaid (haunted radios, bird bones + anthropomorphized wind)”
“warming my hands on bridges i’ve burnt”
“songs that make me see god”
“My Playlist #236”
“classy wine moment and intellectual conversation”
“90s heroin chic model off duty”
“tweet tweet bird emoji map emoji”
“not my circus, not my monkeys”
“a grave is probably cheaper than an apartment”
“ATE THESE BITCHES LEFT NO CRUMBS / DID IT IN DESIGNER PUMPS”
