it is understood that Craig's Lust referred to a malady, whereby the afflicted was compelled to form a rock band (need bassist and singer, auditions wednesdays at 2pm), to obtain free sand (no bags, you haul), and to occupy a roomshare (june to august except 2 weeks of july, no a/c, must not be seen arriving or departing)
you know how many clowns fit in one of those little cars? sorry, dumb fucking question, no one does. but it's a shitload, right? well just imagine, your whole fucking house gets dropped into clownspace, sure it kills the bugs, but you think they're fucking counting rubber noses? might be trading termites for something a whole lot worse
(replaying morrowind for the first time since 2003, and what a fucking RELIEF it is to play a TES game that is actually weird)
noticing too late that it isn't salt water in the sensory deprivation tank, but chicken stock. as I hurl potatoes and carrots uselessly at the door, the temperature begins to rise. "I'll never have my next great business innovation idea like this" I think, the witch's cackle reverberating madly through the chamber
I tried to get on a bus to the airport but it was the antifa supersoldier bus (still trying to get to new jersey) and when I pulled the cord for my stop they threw a cement milkshake at my head and the bus driver told me to check my privilege and I had to climb out the window at a stopsign and an old lady laughed at me. but that's just life in joe brandon's america
I'm not a drowning man
I'm not a burning building