Me: I made this much money this year
IRS: ok great, you get a $200 rebate
Me: cool! Oh wait, I forgot—I also did this freelance gig that paid me 4 dollars
IRS: you fucking WHAT?? Ok, THATS it—actually you owe us eight THOUSAND dollars you FUCKing PSYCHOPATH
you’re still a poet when you aren’t writing you’re still a poet when you aren’t writing you’re still a poet when you aren’t writing you’re still a poet when you aren’t writing you’re still a poet when you aren’t writing you’re still a poet when you aren’t writing you’re still a
Why? Because she’s brought a ludicrously capacious bag. What’s even in there, huh? Flat shoes for the subway? Her lunch pail? I mean, Jess, it’s monstrous. It’s gargantuan. You could take it camping. You could slide it across the floor after a bank job
Why? Because she’s brought a ludicrously capacious bag. What’s even in there, huh? Flat shoes for the subway? Her lunch pail? I mean, Greg, it’s monstrous. It’s gargantuan. You could take it camping. You could slide it across the floor after a bank job
Them: wyd?
Me: on nothing, just daydreaming about having a sugar daddy that buys me every book on my thrift books wish list and never talks to or perceives me