We're in a cycle of constant outrage (which is not to downplay how actually outrageous the time we're living in is), pushed by the insatiable need for
Muse’s cutesy appearance and tone hits my mind like cilantro hits my tongue.
People ask whether I ever feel bad. Usually this happens after someone learns the books are rare, so I explain that rarity is really just an inventory
I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get my hands on some fucking gourds and arrange them in a horn-shaped basket on my dining room table.