June 25, 2016

Ability to fall off one’s shoes: acquired.

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My fingers are blistered like mad from pushing the needles, one of which actually broke in half midstitch, but I, even I, yea verily forsooth, etc, have created a hat.

It just seemed to really want the sunglasses.

It is finally time for that hatpin tattoo!

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There is this certain type of person, who when we want to nutshell them up not on the strength of their appearance but of their behaviors, both accurately and concisely, we refer to as dogs. Not surprisingly considering our feelings about other animals we call dogs, there is something simply beguiling about a dog. In a world where everyone else is wandering around trying to surf their own life wave, drive their own evolution, dogs are laid back and splashing. Regardless of how we really view them, they’re refreshing to see every now and again because we spend so much of our goddamn time trying to figure out what makes other people (and ourselves) tick, and there’s no need for that with dogs. They all’ve been doing the same story for as long as humanity remembers, good natured and obstinately stationary throughout humanity’s history. They’re fun, they’re probably necessary, and they should absolutely be encouraged and given no more than a little over the average life liberty and pursuit of the dream ration of personal power. They should absolutely not run for president, and we should absolutely not have to pretend that their views on shit are valid. They have spent their entire collective lifespan dragging down the dirigible of growth for the whole species, like a swamp dog who’s got hold of the towline and finds himself unready to let it not be all about his dinner and the stick that gets thrown. Their mindset is old, we already know them backward and forward without thinking about it from the age of like six. We don’t need to spend more time on the landing with our boots off, biting our fingernails and spitting them down the stairs to pass the time while everyone gets their turn. Some people are stupid, and they should get to enjoy a life of toy companies and barbie ladyfriends. They should get fast cars and really ridiculously expensive ugly fashion endeavors. They should get to pay philosophy majors to stand in line at ice cream shops for them, and they should get to die in any clandestine sexual scenario that they see fit. But they should not get to tell anyone else what to do, anywhere beyond or maybe a little below the standard allotment as per life liberty and the pursuit, etc, and nobody is going to let them. We have had a George W Bush puppet before, and before him we probably had others that I’m too young to remember. That whole scenario got us howlers like ‘fish are people too,’ and treasured forever memories of confusing doors and flying shoes. During it all, life went on and decisions were made and some things went forward and lots of things went back. So has it been, so it ever shall be. I am still voting for the person who deserves my vote, regardless of the current puppet in the corner. Who gives a shit. Do it for yourself. Be impeccable with your word.

Curtsey, end rant~

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