Sometimes I wrestle with my demons. Sometimes we just snuggle.
– @er0tikka
streeter:

I’m glad the portrait of Ben Franklin stayed the same on the new $100 bill. There’s something about his slight, tight frown, the paternal hint of disappointment in his eyes and those pursed, sealed lips that seem to say, “I don’t approve of what you’re doing, but I can’t stop you from rolling this banknote into a straw and ripping a fat rail of white lightning in the Buffalo Wild Wings handicapped bathroom stall, you goddamn beautiful disaster.” 
(Shameless edit since I see so many notes on my little post here - I wrote a book full of similarly long, rambling sentences that terminate in a reference to B-Double-Dubs. It’s called White Whine and I’d be thrilled if you checked it out?)

streeter:

I’m glad the portrait of Ben Franklin stayed the same on the new $100 bill. There’s something about his slight, tight frown, the paternal hint of disappointment in his eyes and those pursed, sealed lips that seem to say, “I don’t approve of what you’re doing, but I can’t stop you from rolling this banknote into a straw and ripping a fat rail of white lightning in the Buffalo Wild Wings handicapped bathroom stall, you goddamn beautiful disaster.” 

(Shameless edit since I see so many notes on my little post here - I wrote a book full of similarly long, rambling sentences that terminate in a reference to B-Double-Dubs. It’s called White Whine and I’d be thrilled if you checked it out?)

postmodernism:

I don’t know why Frank insisted on bringing me to this dinner party, I don’t even know what to talk about and everyone’s already having a conversation, it’d be awkward to butt in. A steakhouse? Really? I’m a pescetarian, Frank. We’ve known each other ten years. Nobody’s even bothered to comment on my coat or offered a tummy rub. Your friends are shit, Frank.

postmodernism:

I don’t know why Frank insisted on bringing me to this dinner party, I don’t even know what to talk about and everyone’s already having a conversation, it’d be awkward to butt in. A steakhouse? Really? I’m a pescetarian, Frank. We’ve known each other ten years. Nobody’s even bothered to comment on my coat or offered a tummy rub. Your friends are shit, Frank.