I hope I don't have to talk about the fucking Doors.

I'm ending this terrible trend of trite tumblr tracts by jumping headfirst into the obvious choice: #end. Buckle up.

Not only did you ruin an otherwise beautiful picture by tossing text in the world's ugliest shade of pink over it; you're just plain wrong. In fact, as far as things go, memories are pretty ephemeral. There have been nights where my memories don't even get a chance to be born. As a matter of fact, this little rant will probably be forgotten by the time I'm done with this sandwich.

Tell that to everyone who's died slowly, painfully and alone. If life is a book, I hope pinkcandyzel's gets symbolically burned.

This made it all the way from the idea stage to canvas without anyone noticing that that "is" should be an "are". Clearly their memories are not of seventh grade English.

Tell that to my dead Grandma asshole.

"I JUST CAN'T GET THIS DAMN PEN TO WRITE! FUCK FUCK FUCK!"

Ever see Romeo and Juliet?

Bring a paddle next time, fuckwit. And hey spell check, get on making  fuckwit a word. That red squiggly pisses me off.

Happy belated 14th birthday Leilockheart! 

And all those times we stubbed our toes, or said stupid things in public, or got arrested, or left the car running in the garage with the kids inside. Also, I have a feeling you won't find this posted up at a Gambler's Anonymous meeting.

Well, that and the inability to see or touch each other. You know, mostly the latter.

Then why did I never meet Harvey Pekar? Huh?! HUH?!

I miss "The End" screens. 

Well, that's all the tumblr trolling I can tackle for a time. Also, I now have banner ads. Yeah, I'm a sellout, but fuck it, I'm a broke one. If you have a halfway decent browser you'll never see them, and if you gave them a click every once in a while, you'd be doing me a favor. 
Until next time, may you never run low on maraschino cherries.