make a bonfire out of the internal organs of your victims. it'll be a heartwarming experience.
i have no idea what snuff boxes are used for other than to store poison to bring to dinner parties and kill people.
i read the kama sutra for the plot.
inspiration is perishable, freeze immediately.
where do goldfish go when they die?
not metaphysically, i mean is there a sewage treatment plant somewhere teeming with the bloated corpses of every Goldie and Freddy flushed away?
the first time i tried a green smoothie i gagged.
i like my pumpkin in my soup, not in my pie and sure as hell not in my coffee.
a transcript of church would read like a dog training manual:
sit-stand-sit-stand-sit-stand-here's a biscuit-amen.
i argue with my parents over their God and mine.
i do not believe in humanity.
i am an angry, twisted soul
saturated by an inutterable sadness.
what if the Devil was the one who answered your prayers?
"Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?"- Mark Twain.
do manners dissipate into the ether of the afterlife or are all ghosts just dead rude bastards who don't use doors and fuck with your shit when you're trying to sleep?
how terrifying would the ghosts of cockroaches be?
imagine if you were haunted by every spider, ant, fly, and creepy crawly you've ever killed.
sharks are the brooding hipsters.
i have a stuffed shark named Luci, short for Lucifer.
he wears a mini Santa hat seasonally.
why not have a drawer dedicated solely to storing your existential meltdowns?
the road to heaven is paved with gilded chocolate bunnies and lollipops and fun-sized Halloween candy, but you're diabetic.
emotions are a trifling human evolutionary setback.
the metalhead I befriended int he mental hospital turned out to be a pedophile.
it's true, I googled it.
but he gave me some great advice over dinner
"If a man is jealous, show him straight to the door because that means he's insecure."
don't store your marijuana in the spice cabinet, especially not next to the oregano.
discuss the ethics of sleeping with your mother.
i read the kama sutra for the plot.
inspiration is perishable, freeze immediately.
where do goldfish go when they die?
not metaphysically, i mean is there a sewage treatment plant somewhere teeming with the bloated corpses of every Goldie and Freddy flushed away?
the first time i tried a green smoothie i gagged.
i like my pumpkin in my soup, not in my pie and sure as hell not in my coffee.
a transcript of church would read like a dog training manual:
sit-stand-sit-stand-sit-stand-here's a biscuit-amen.
i argue with my parents over their God and mine.
i do not believe in humanity.
i am an angry, twisted soul
saturated by an inutterable sadness.
what if the Devil was the one who answered your prayers?
"Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?"- Mark Twain.
do manners dissipate into the ether of the afterlife or are all ghosts just dead rude bastards who don't use doors and fuck with your shit when you're trying to sleep?
how terrifying would the ghosts of cockroaches be?
imagine if you were haunted by every spider, ant, fly, and creepy crawly you've ever killed.
sharks are the brooding hipsters.
i have a stuffed shark named Luci, short for Lucifer.
he wears a mini Santa hat seasonally.
why not have a drawer dedicated solely to storing your existential meltdowns?
the road to heaven is paved with gilded chocolate bunnies and lollipops and fun-sized Halloween candy, but you're diabetic.
emotions are a trifling human evolutionary setback.
the metalhead I befriended int he mental hospital turned out to be a pedophile.
it's true, I googled it.
but he gave me some great advice over dinner
"If a man is jealous, show him straight to the door because that means he's insecure."
don't store your marijuana in the spice cabinet, especially not next to the oregano.
discuss the ethics of sleeping with your mother.
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