Dear 2018,
I give up. Officially and publicly, 2018: I give up. Full and unconditional surrender. Whatever it is you want, you may have or do. I’ll tell you where the money is. You can do unpleasant sex things on me. Uncle, I cry. Whatever it will take to make you act like a normal year, I will do that and I will do it with vigor and joy. 2016 and ’17 were just awful; you, 2018, are fucking weird and I can’t take it anymore. All I’m asking is that you at least pretend to try to make sense. It seems like you’re just free associating at this point, 2018. Please, please, please stop being like this.
Thank you,
Thoughts on the Dead
PS Also: please don’t kill any more Rock Stars.
fortunately we have you shining brightly the lantern of reason illuminating our tortured paths? thanks any way for trying
wheezing hungover chortles. couldn’t agree with you more.
get you back to basics. your mind right for 2019
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