Tin can at my feet

Rainy season, yadda yadda… typhoon… yakkity yak… tsuyu… jabba jabba… I’m so wet right now… waffle waffle… nothing will ever be dry again, and so on and so forth.

Look, just listen to the fucking song, alright?

I Wish I Was Special

Chopsticks. Always with the fucking chopsticks. I spend hours crafting a witty, eloquent, and insightful post – a post which directly address our capacities for perception and understanding, and thus skewers the very heart of the human condition – and all people want to talk about is fucking chopsticks. It doesn’t matter how many clever-clever references to fictional Victorian junkies I slip in, it all comes back down to the fucking Magic Food Twigs.