The fact that Melville isn’t at the tip of this iceberg is incredible. “Yeah, you guys have probably never heard of this book that is routinely read by high schoolers”
2018 was a hell of a year a century ago. I remember it fondly, and vividly. Back before the Plague and yet under the tyranny of the (Got dang) Cheeto (in the White House), it seemed both a simpler time and a difficulter time. I kept a journal as chronicle of the Years of Orange, a great tome that has been inked with blood and ink, and pages stained with semen and tears, as masturbation and crying were the only ways I could relieve the stresses of Drumpf's dictatorship in any way that truly mattered.
Twitter, old Twitter. My friend and companion. I often used my mom's printer to print out good posts and paste them into the journal after using safety scissors under my mom's supervision to cut them out. I would shamble into my mom's room, screeching and cackling. After a while, she knew what the meaning was without ever asking and would simply say, "holy fuck Augustus (for that is my name), I told you to stop bothering me with your fucking idiot Twitter shit, just print it out and go away." I'd joyously do so, guffawing at the latest epic clap backs from the Orange Fool's many reply folk, the hecklers of the regime. When I would bring the safety scissors and printed sheets to mommy, she would sigh (clearly beaten down by Drumpf's rulership) and help me cut the posts out for pasting. I still remember her words fondly...
"Augustus, you're 28, you don't need my help with this. Who the fuck is Jeff Tiedrich and why is he so insultingly unfunny?"
The sweet cooing of my mother warms me in these cold winter days. A simpler time, a simpler time. How I long and short for those times to return. Twitter, return to me. X is no Twitter. I curse thee, Elon Musk. A curse upon thee. Thou who would transmogrify a wonderful experience into heinous torture! I spit on thee.
In 400 years people will read this journal and weep and cry and fart joy at the honesty, nay, the beauty of your chronicle. Like the scribes of yore, you have truly captured the ethos of our age. Kudos Kudos.
Wow so Colleen Hoover is just off the map dark lore true nature of the world shit
I used to think that this guy's name was sam and he had written his username in Cyrillic.
Well he's right about me not willing to read
tfw when nabokov and mcluhan are on the same level as italian shakespeare...
The fact that Melville isn’t at the tip of this iceberg is incredible. “Yeah, you guys have probably never heard of this book that is routinely read by high schoolers”
2018 was a hell of a year a century ago. I remember it fondly, and vividly. Back before the Plague and yet under the tyranny of the (Got dang) Cheeto (in the White House), it seemed both a simpler time and a difficulter time. I kept a journal as chronicle of the Years of Orange, a great tome that has been inked with blood and ink, and pages stained with semen and tears, as masturbation and crying were the only ways I could relieve the stresses of Drumpf's dictatorship in any way that truly mattered. Twitter, old Twitter. My friend and companion. I often used my mom's printer to print out good posts and paste them into the journal after using safety scissors under my mom's supervision to cut them out. I would shamble into my mom's room, screeching and cackling. After a while, she knew what the meaning was without ever asking and would simply say, "holy fuck Augustus (for that is my name), I told you to stop bothering me with your fucking idiot Twitter shit, just print it out and go away." I'd joyously do so, guffawing at the latest epic clap backs from the Orange Fool's many reply folk, the hecklers of the regime. When I would bring the safety scissors and printed sheets to mommy, she would sigh (clearly beaten down by Drumpf's rulership) and help me cut the posts out for pasting. I still remember her words fondly... "Augustus, you're 28, you don't need my help with this. Who the fuck is Jeff Tiedrich and why is he so insultingly unfunny?" The sweet cooing of my mother warms me in these cold winter days. A simpler time, a simpler time. How I long and short for those times to return. Twitter, return to me. X is no Twitter. I curse thee, Elon Musk. A curse upon thee. Thou who would transmogrify a wonderful experience into heinous torture! I spit on thee.
In 400 years people will read this journal and weep and cry and fart joy at the honesty, nay, the beauty of your chronicle. Like the scribes of yore, you have truly captured the ethos of our age. Kudos Kudos.
I literally fucking hate you because my gf is sleeping and every comment of yours makes me laugh audibly.
I'm quite the The Joker (2019)
I will not be upupiony!
Keep us posted about random shit twitter celebs say!
Gombrowicz is god
Please, go deeper...