the phrase "lipstick on a pig" has always inspired a deep sadness in me. I think of the pig, looking forward to her big night out, and I bring myself to the verge of tears.
Bro I’m back in the gym and I’m only working out my core, I want to look like Eddie hall, but only in the stomach. Look like I have a beer belly, but when I pop tarp just have an 8 pack of muscle and nothing else going for me. That’s gonna be so sick
USA. There is a beast that lives beneath the American sink. It is always hungry. I have chosen to honor it.
The young man showing me the apartment said it casually, as if it were nothing. "Oh, and there's a disposal." He flipped a switch, and the drain ROARED — a grinding, growling thunder, hungry and alive — and then, at another flick, fell silent. Waiting.
I did not flinch. But I understood at once what I was dealing with.
For it is written that the oldest houses keep a guardian at the threshold of fire and water: a spirit of the hearth, fed in exchange for protection. Here, that spirit lives beneath the sink. It does not ask for prayers. It asks for scraps. And in return it devours what would rot, and keeps the whole house clean and sweet.
So I fed it, with respect. The rind of an onion. A bow. The switch. The roar of a grateful god. I thanked it each time. I named it. I began to leave it the best scraps, not the worst — for a guardian deserves the finest tribute a kitchen can give.
And here my heart rose, and I declared the thing a calmer man would not:
"I will feed this hungry spirit so faithfully, and so well, that on the day misfortune finally comes for this house, it will rise from the drain in a column of righteous thunder and devour my every enemy whole — and I will stand calmly beside the sink and say, 'this one has been with me from the beginning.'"
My landlord, doing the final walkthrough, heard the disposal roaring at midnight and knocked, concerned.
"Everything okay in here?"
"We are well," I said, gesturing to the sink. "He and I."
He did not understand. But he nodded slowly, and left us to it.
The drain has never clogged. The kitchen has never smelled of anything but morning. We have an understanding now, the beast and I.
So tell me, America.
You call it a garbage disposal. An appliance. A switch you flip without a thought.
I call it the loyal hearth-beast of every house —
fed in scraps, paid in thunder,
asking nothing but to be remembered at supper.
I had a buddy who interned for the House of Angostura and he asked why they don't just put a label on the bitters that's the right size for the bottle
They straight up killed him and put his body in the dumpster. He was my friend
Started drunk smoking again and there are actually zero negative effects on my life because the alcohol forms a protective layer around your lungs a lot of people don’t know this
Whenever I go to the gym I listen to Tee Grizzley’s first couple mixtapes, but as of the last week I just listen to the “Orange Juice” live acoustic by @NoahKahan on repeat and let the sadness run the pump
This is just a turkey neck. My grandma had one. It would jiggle when she spoke. We later found out she was a member of the kgb and it was a mask. I smothered her with a pillow. I miss her every day