I didn't break the circle, but then it turned out to be an fuckin oval twisted at the middle anyways, or maybe a double helix...
it's been harder to tell since we shot Euclid (or at least clipped his eyelids).
Man I really apologize for dipping into subAnticon blogpost titles that go well beyond the limit imposed by the fine folks at Blogger, but this real world is just a bit intense for a crazyeyed bottlecap like myself. Popped off, tha's what.
So as my first honestly full official day of lost class, I took it upon myself to get up on this "illustrated novel" by Craig Thompson, Blankets. I'm sure everybody gets eerie shakes from shit on occassion, but when you grow up in what is generally considered the boonies to the flyover states you really don't expect to have eerie (fuckit -- EMO) occurences where major hunks of your adolescence are thrown back in yr face as part of a 600 page epic comic book (fuck you yes it is). When yr tryin' to figure out if you recognize that building from back in the day when you ran cross country freshman year -- a comic book building, dammit -- this constitures a major reason to return to that eight dollar bottle of Phillips Blended Canadian. So here I am, finally done with college after seven bloated years and getting wistful over a region I haven't spent significant time in for eight. Am I being cleansed? Lashed? Aw, hell, by this point it's just the whiskey anyways but I'm still straight creeped. It's like I should give you folks someting offa Diary or Pork Soda or, jeezus, Infrared Riding Hood if only I still had a copy. Well, shit. You get somethin' offa Icky Mettle to fully represent a busride to at least one specific forensics meet at the building in question. My life never need be told again. All paths are dug (with scoops not shovels). My only respite is in the knowledge that I am bringing duckboots back for winter this year.
You think I jest.
Watch.
Archers of Loaf -- Learo, You're a Hole
Man I really apologize for dipping into subAnticon blogpost titles that go well beyond the limit imposed by the fine folks at Blogger, but this real world is just a bit intense for a crazyeyed bottlecap like myself. Popped off, tha's what.
So as my first honestly full official day of lost class, I took it upon myself to get up on this "illustrated novel" by Craig Thompson, Blankets. I'm sure everybody gets eerie shakes from shit on occassion, but when you grow up in what is generally considered the boonies to the flyover states you really don't expect to have eerie (fuckit -- EMO) occurences where major hunks of your adolescence are thrown back in yr face as part of a 600 page epic comic book (fuck you yes it is). When yr tryin' to figure out if you recognize that building from back in the day when you ran cross country freshman year -- a comic book building, dammit -- this constitures a major reason to return to that eight dollar bottle of Phillips Blended Canadian. So here I am, finally done with college after seven bloated years and getting wistful over a region I haven't spent significant time in for eight. Am I being cleansed? Lashed? Aw, hell, by this point it's just the whiskey anyways but I'm still straight creeped. It's like I should give you folks someting offa Diary or Pork Soda or, jeezus, Infrared Riding Hood if only I still had a copy. Well, shit. You get somethin' offa Icky Mettle to fully represent a busride to at least one specific forensics meet at the building in question. My life never need be told again. All paths are dug (with scoops not shovels). My only respite is in the knowledge that I am bringing duckboots back for winter this year.
You think I jest.
Watch.
Archers of Loaf -- Learo, You're a Hole
posted by Quincy Hoist at 9:36 PM
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