a magician asks you to pick a card - any card, in fact. you do. they ask you to put the card back in the pack - anywhere in the pack, in fact. you do. they walk away. ten years later, your wife gives birth to the six of clubs. “is this your card?” the midwife asks, in a familiar voice.
what the fuck
just wanna get rich enough to buy my mom all the shit she deserves
absolutly deezgusted with the state of my legs right now
ive honestly never understood why drinking to get drunk is a sign of alcoholism like who the FUCK drinks to get moderately tipsy? who the fuck drinks because alcohol tastes good? literally nobody in recorded history thats who
life is Mad gay. but so is death. so what can you do? buckle my shoe.
-dr. seuss. one of his more underground poems