Sunday morning reading.
No yourself. No life.
The reason my father learned Kung Fu, the reason my father made me learn Kung Fu. And so on.
Comparatively cheap rents here in Seattle, plentiful space.
Didn’t smell like creamy goo. Rather disappointing, that lack.
Jesus is ______.
Say goodbye to those tired tropes and been-there-seen-it scenic vistas. The Tenderloin Geographic Society’s Scenic B-sides will have you wondering why you ever bothered to leave home in the first place. We take the guess work out of tourism, and will make your relatives shrug in wonder when they receive these positively questionable postcards. Coming soon: more pictures of stuff on the street.
Thomas Kinkade.
Probably over the heads of most of these gentiles, your reference. Go ahead, enjoy your chuckle.
Portrait of a man resolutely ignoring his Id. A real 6-foot rabbit sort of dilemma.
What is it that people from San Francisco say? “I liked it, it reminded me of home.”
Well, yes.
Dublin, 2009.
This was a happy memory. Berlin, 2009.
One color short of a primary trifecta.
They miss the point so completely that it’s almost cute.
But it begs the question, what would god taste like if he were a candy bar, and could be enjoyed? I say salty nuts.
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