(we smoked some hash) we smoked some monster hash (some monster hash) it was some dank ass trash (some monster hash) we got baked in a flash

that's so sad. let me play 4 u the worlds smallest violin. now let me play 4 u the smallest piano. now heres a lil cymbal. u feelin better

here is a cool fact about whistling: you can stop whistling

Yeah, i'm not really into mainstream music.*turns on mario paint music player, listens to baby fart noise on the lowest octave on repeat*

hey it's me, the girl who just googled "chemistry alphabet" when i meant "periodic table"

in space, no one can hear you jam

ahhh, summer's bounty *opens a bag of cheez-its, crunches it into instant mashed potatoes, tops with gushers* the freshness of the earth

Sext: I start writing erotica. I submit pieces to the websites I know you frequent. You masturbate to me without even knowing it.

Fine ass DESPERATE honeys taking off their EXOSKELETONS and fingering their THROBBING VISCERA for you so can HELP PAY THEIR RENT.

science fact: hey once i tried to convince someone alligators can run 50 mph on land. legs just wheelin dust, jaws flapping like crazy

Q: what kind of crab makes an excellent musician?
A: a crab would never be taken seriously as a musician please don't dash its dreams

Sext: we get blazed in the hotel room & watch national geographic. You pet my hair. I try not to worry abt all the cop cars parked outside.

types of boys: old book smell, knives for eyes, self deprecating humor, robocop, whiskey on breath, well manicured, waits for you in snow

Q: why was the egg unhappy?
A: because his life was in SCRAMBLES! also a chemical imbalance in his brain

uptown girl, she's been living in her hipster world, flannel shirts and skinny pants, and she's looking for a bearded man, PBR cans

probably the thing inside the suitcase in pulp fiction was just twitter

AT LEAST I DIED AS I LIVED, BLUSHING FURIOUSLY AT THE SLIGHTEST PROVOCATION AND REFUSING TO MAKE EYE CONTACT

i'm sorry he's tarragon. i know this is parsley my fault. i can't offer you any sage advice. all i can promise is a wild thyme

red sky at morning, sailors take warning, sky rockets in flight, afternoon delight

twitter is the longest poem about fucking and being sad