The second in an endless series of life transcriptions.
Emily, Torrin, Cesar, Roya, Robert, Brandon, Sosa, Cheryl, Farah.
Black text are my additions after the fact.
These aren’t peach rings. They’re referencing peach rings.
We’re references to each other, bits of disheveled selves creating a new image.
The Rabbit liquor awards.
And the winner is…
I just submit shit and get published.
I just submit shit and get some sort of fecal matter related disease.
I maintain, that if all the worlds leaders would just sit around a table that was loaded with pancakes,
we’d all be in a much better place afterward.
I maintain that I, likewise, would be in a much better place.
Like, you can’t have a bad conversation about reducing nuclear arms proliferation,
when the president of Egypt is handing you the strawberry syrup.
I think I had a dream like this once.
It’s a mathematical impossibility,
Mathematics is a mathematical impossibility.
much like my complete and utter inability to do math.
Will you still be my friend when I’ve got unkempt similes dribbling down my chin?
I will be your friend, till death do our similes part.
I am dissecting various subcultures of fuckboi-ism.
I am dissecting a baby shark. Flashback to 8th grade, oops.
Le fuccbois are eternal.
Ephemeral to us, yes?
Fuckboi prose poetry.
The only adequate way to externalize your frustrations with fuckboi culture.
Yeah, I hate people who use French words, like the French.
Logic is my middle name.
If you want more edgy shit, I’ve got loads of inspiration.
I need a protractor, actually.
Sosa just wants to give you his loads.
No, pls. I’m impotent. 😦
That’s problematic.
I was watching Rugrats.
Chuckie, Tommy, pickles, cucumbers. Mmm.
One of the books the kid was reading said quantum physics.
Quantum levitation is a cool thing.
And I figured, “that looks smart.” So I looked it up.
I talked to my friends dad who’s a quantum physicist,
and I asked him what quantum physics was.
And he said it’s the physics of quantum.
Now that’s some top tier logic.
I just want to be immersed in the pure blanket of truth until I die.
That sounds feasible enough.
I think I’m thoroughly convinced that my insides are made of sugar.
I should hope that this isn’t the case.
I think my soul is a mound of melted candy.
Life goals?
I want rotting sugar to be a thing.
I believe it already is a thing?
I mean, rotting teeth is a thing.
Yes, rotting teeth are are thing.
Obama’s top tier blasphemy.
I’m insinuating that I enjoy prostate stimulation.
How could you not?
I obviously have no frame of reference for this.
That’s Frida Kahlo on my calf.
Is she also on your cattle?
It makes me so happy.
Happiness is Frida Kahlo, as it seems.
Next time, I’ll get the Abraham Lincoln socks.
Four score and 7 years ago, I had Abraham Lincoln socks.
Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter, is a terrible movie.
I’m no rotten tomato, although I hate tomatoes.
Have a nice day.
SABMANSHAR 