Hi I’m Mike. I’m underappreciated in my time but in thousands of years archeologists will uncover my posts from under the rubble and name a new disorder after me
the best song ever made? Well, in 1980 a coked-out Italian producer and a vapid New York society girl made a song about being a mindless hole, for a movie about a male prostitute who gets framed for murder. A few years later Disney approached a novelty musician from the late 50s about making modern music sound like it was sung by cartoon chipmunks for an upcoming piece of direct-to-video shovelware. Then in 2015 someone slowed the cartoon chipmunk cover of the male prostitute song down so the vocals sound normal but it’s the instruments that sound fucked up
enough preg let’s litigate a new fetish. step right up who’s got a good one
your mind is so beautiful. im obsessed. i dont even want to litigate over the morals of this one im just mentally playing in this space with u rn. what if i was a naughty little mothgirl and mommy tortured me with stinky mothballs
there’s a recurring scenario i’ve had bouncing around in my head for the last decade wherein some guy sees The Hangover and thinks it’s funny enough to buy one of those branded “baby on board” bumper stickers for his Nissan Altima even though he’s 30 and single, just to let people know he liked the movie, and a year and a half later his car skids out on a patch of black ice during his morning commute causing a three-car pileup and he’s unconscious when the firefighters arrive to pull him out of his burning car so he can’t tell them that the “baby on board” sticker is just a joke and one of the veteran firefighters (grandfather of 5) insists on using the jaws of life to cut into the crumpled back seat and find this child because God damn it no kid is dying on his watch and the driver regains consciousness just in time to see the fire reach his car’s fuel line and instantly vaporize the firefighter searching for a baby that was never there. as you can imagine this is an exceedingly difficult fetish to track down/commission art for; the one guy i’ve found on Patreon willing to take my money is in Nagorno-Karabakh and hasn’t responded to any of my DMs since the latest Azeri offensive
the american midwest. people wake up in their ikea beds and immediately slam into their ford trucks and drive 2 hours through featureless cornfields to pretend-work in an office for a company that functionally does nothing. they dissociate until it’s time to get back home and listen to classic rock or top 40 pop for an hour to wind down. dinner is unseasoned roast chicken and weak cold beer made mostly of rice. then they have missionary for 3 minutes with their hetero spouse and reminisce briefly about high school and pass out. anything that forces a deviation from this life-plan is a federal fucking offense and, in the minds of people who have fully surrendered spiritually to the midwestern mindset, heralds instant violent death. they say bulls are baited into a rage by the color red; if you show a midwesterner any color bright enough, they’ll reach for a gun
the trout cutlet i placed in soil and fertilized near my home has recently grown large enough to think and it keeps grabbing at my vape pen and moaning and slapping at me with its gay oily hands
ME: hey man. are you free saturday? it’d be good to hang out MY FRIEND (SUPER MARIO BROS HAMMER BROTHER): no can do buddy. I’m gonna be busy throwing hammers at Mario ME: damn, that sucks. i got sunday open too MY FRIEND: Sorry, can’t do it. Got throwing hammers at Mario that day too ME: hmm. Is there a day you don’t spend throwing hammers at Mario MY FRIEND, HEFTING HAMMER: Mario? Where? I’m gonna smash his fucking skull in
im so in love with this post one time i got really really high and decided since i dont have a printer that i was going to paint it and hang it up on my wall
there’s only 7 words on the painting and you managed to misspell the two largest ones
