They didn’t just rub our faces in it. They shoved it in all our orifices and tattooed it on the backs of our hands, so we’d have to look at it all the time.
RESURRECTING THE OCTOPUS
You won’t be needing any more [thing someone won’t be needing any more of, because they won’t be alive].
weird watery eons
One of these days, he’s going to do that thing where he shakes someone’s hand and pulls them uncomfortably close, and they’re going to splay their other hand over his face and push him away, like “not today, Mr. Grabby.”
These six things must’ve meant something to me, at some point. (Even the squish mitten.)
I have another headache, Internet. Or maybe it’s the same one, from before. It won’t go away. It keeps coming back. I’m all full of misery.