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I do believe I could survive getting sucked into a tornado. I’d probably flourish up there. Come down a different man. “Is it just me or did the tornado make him hot?” people would say. “Happy Birthday Mason-sama.” I would respond

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i’m a man of habit. you’ll read that and go ‘i know that your car stinks of cigarettes and it feels like a game of jenga out of old marlboro packs is being played in your house’ but shut up fuck you. what i mean is that im stubborn, consistent and a bit of an asshole, so when i start doing something often ill do it for years on end, which has gotten me in trouble and, fittingly, will continue to do so. that’s why it shouldn’t be a shock to any of you that in fact yes i am going to continue smoking cigarettes and talking about jon moxley until the day audrey snaps out of her haze and finally puts me in the ground. until then however, i have every intention of forgetting what i was talking about

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step after step, they walk. feet are torn to bloody shreds in old boots, leather chips flaking into the dirt in time with the dead skin, and still they walk. ‘to the shrine!’ some say, ‘that’s where we’re headed!’ but they do not know truth in that any better than a germ distinguishes hatred from wrath. it is the bear’s cave, that is the destination, and in amongst the hibernation is their journey. Beeb roars, and they walk. Beeb steps, and they run. but they have already walked so far. so very far.

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i hab every intention of sending this post into the world with a long, verbose essay to accompany it@on the journey through the great dark:. howqever, my lovely wife has struck mee seveeral times directly on top of my cranium. with a smooth yet exceptionallly heavy chunk of wazed lemnostone. the cracks omy screen proctor redden as the dri pping results of th impsct hit phone, but suh is life. i weel fur geengus o ciuldvee con queererd onda paije? butttt oh well! happy wife happy life!

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if you see me in the club it may come to your attention that i am but parody of the human form made of twisted, ill-begotten flesh. you will notice that i indeed seem to be a cruel mimicry of yourself made of string and discarded paper mache organs. should i leave the club more human know that it is because i have taken that humanity away from you, and the one thing you can never get back is that which makes you want it back at all

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i’m starting to get concerned that people are going to take my spree of brutal unsolicited murders the wrong way. like did those people deserve it? presumably not but i don’t know for sure, it’s unwise to make such immediate judgements. i think the real lesson here is that life is wacky and wild and you gotta roll with the punches. that man you call ‘my poor, darling husband’ certainly didn’t and now the cartilage typically located in the nose is lodged in the base of his spinal column as his body rots away cell be cell at the base of a cliff in the appalachian mountains, so i wouldn’t consider him much of an idol.

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batten down the hatches. hoist the sails. weigh the anchor. i’ve stumbled across a new, unimaginably intricate yet uninteresting wikipedia page and no one will be safe from my sheer psychological force i know posses. prophets have been haunted by dreams of how bad a day it is to be the wikipedia page for turkmenistan

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i’ll be honest about one thing, Gerald Green can dunk a basketball, he can likely dunk some other balls as well. but with that said, check the treehouse come witching hour and there he sits, bloody fingers tracing sigils like trenches through the eastern theatre. ‘Gerald hails it’ he mutters. his hands shake around the barrel of the 1911, he asks if God has words for us? his eyes are spotlights of anguish and strength. do the birds hear the lord clearer than us?

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Bali Belly 🇮🇩

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Rum ba-bar hopping.

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Some fav Be Real’s in 2023
Add me if you want @eddyscorgie

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And a happy new year !

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