Uh…Weekend at Bernies.

kethera:

misskittyfantastico:

sailorgallifrey:

denteddimension:

cows-quack:

fffheytherescar:

misha-sparkle:

cosmicquarks:

doodleloser:

poetlion:

kanayasnipples:

tomatoshades:

fairgwenofair:

my-miraculous-rage:

veryadorabull:

(PAUL. FUCK YES.)

Um…

Finding Nemo

IM A FUCKING FISH!

FUCK YEAH 

CRY BABY LANE.

WELL SHIT BRO

Hunger Games here too

fuck omg

The Lorax

wow lame

Hunger Games.

I’m screwed

How to train your dragon.

Puss and Boots
Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah 

Zoolander

i’m really really ridiculously good looking

Hunger Games

oh SHIT son 

Also Hunger Games …………..

Annie Hall

Fuck

The Muppets.

I WIN.

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides

…Well, it’s not as terrible as being reaped for The Hunger Games.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. I could do far, far worse.

(Source: slutformisha)

I dare you to find a more dated object than a Letters to Cleo cassette.

Started tracking a new album today. The feel is of being strung out, fucked raw, and left in the gutter. Thinking of using a portion of this photo of myself as the cover. It seems to fit and it’s one of my favorites.

OKAY FINE BROTIPS ILL DO IT.

(Source: brotips)

I just saw the first bocce ball-playing hipsters of the year. It’s the first sign of a Brooklyn spring!

Damn, that’s a long lace.

Fairly proud of this one, although it was tough as hell to write mostly because there was SO MUCH to weed through. I mean I could seriously write a book-length essay about how bad Skyward Sword was. Jesus that game pissed me off. I wonder if I can sell it.

GVOY

I cannot stop staring at this damn thing.

I wrote this around 1:30 last night in my notebook while waiting for the train—I needed to calm down and obviously writing is good for that.

I was mugged for the first time tonight. I feel like it’s partially my fault. All he got was $20 and my phone. Man, there are a lot of pictures of my dick on there. Fuck. All of my email. Okay. I know I can wipe it remotely if the train ever gets here. I was dumb. I thought there had been someone following me. I heard a rushing and I braced myself. “I’m gonna shoot you,” he said, something which felt like a fist with my back but who am I to try it? He says it with no personal threat, just protocol. “Give me everything.”

I stay calm. “Okay,” I said, and I peel $20—all the money that I have, money my friend owed me and paid back not five minutes earlier—out of my wallet. “That’s all I have,” I say, showing the empty wallet. He feels through my pockets, grabs my phone—fuck. He goes through my back and I explain to him what each item is—“My keys, it’s like a jacket or something, my book.”

“Where’s the money?” he says.

“I don’t know, you took it out, I thought you had it,” and show him the empty wallet.

“Okay,” he says, turning me to face away from him—I have not seen his face the entire time and I have to fight the maddening urge to sneak a look at it, but then I think of Lot’s wife—and I comply, bend my hat forward, look at the ground, cover my face as I shuffle away. “Get away or I’m gonna shoot you,” he says, and I continue the compliance I have been keeping up the entire exchange and I walk. And satisfied he walks away too. And I debate if I should go back to my friend’s but I think, no, I’ll go home. I see a cab in the gas station but he’s done for the night and my pleas aren’t working. What can the cops do, put out an APB for a dude in swishy athletic pants—their shuffle as he fucking stalked me, Jesus—who got $20 and a phone I am about to remotely wipe? Not worth it. Well I suppose all told everything went as well as a mugging can. I still got my metrocard and my credit cards, I got my keys and my notebook, and I’m 100% safe.

It’ll be a few days before I can get my phone back, and then I’ll probably have one of those periods where I don’t have anyone’s numbers. You can get in touch with me through email if you need to.