R.
says
... nah
R.
says
(drums fingers)
R.
says
...
R.
says
I think I'm going to write some more shit.
R.
says
I think I'm going to write some shit.
R.
thinks
of another crazy-ass madman who traveled thousands of miles on an adventure... RIP Silas.
R.
thinks
deals.kinja.com/now-anyo... wait, which year is that? Who's the 3-point shooter? Johnny P or Steve Kerr?
R.
thinks
this will not end well. It will never end well.
R.
says
should I go back to this head of the social media hydra, or is it enough to tongue-kiss and get sucked off by all the others?
R.
says
I went to the gas station on the corner for a powerball ticket and sweet tarts. They had neither. So, I got ice cream. This is Friday.