How do we explain to 40+ year olds online that you can’t just end every sentence with “…” without conveying a really ominous vibe lol.
i love that this post has informed me that thousands of other people my age are terrified by totally innocuous messages from parents, professors, and bosses.
I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about…
I suppose this is one way you could tell us…
Don’t you try and take my ellipses away…
gaining eldritch knowledge is just finding out how to be woke and hp lovecraft was scared of it because he wanted to keep being very racist
the callout of cthulhu
chthulhu: “just stop being racist”
lovecraft: “this knowledge is too much for the human brain to comprehend, just by thinking about it you fall into madness”
C. went to an education conference and they gave participants a grab bag that included one of these super-duper razors with the pivoting ball and FIVE blades. A pack of refills costs more than I’ve spent on razors thus far in my life.
Thanks to those who made hat suggestions! As much as I’d love to wear a snap-brim and live out my dreams of being Art Carney, I’m pretty sure they’re close enough to the proverbial “fedora” that passersby might get the wrong idea.
I desperately need a new hat. I have no idea what to get. I want something with personality, but not enough to make me the obnoxious hat guy. I’m open to suggestions. Keep in mind that I have a gigantic head.
It seems like I spent a lot of my childhood listening to mustachioed authority figures mispronounce words.
Apparently this is the week I only work on guitars made during the latter half of the 1930′s.
Don’t think about it too long or it might seem sexy.
-I think it’s important to realize that unless I’m in a job interview I spend every moment trying to turn real life into a Christopher Guest ensemble comedy. This can be an issue if people don’t understand that 90% of my responses will be irony or deadpan sarcasm. This includes funerals and health crises. I’ve only met three or four people who get it.
Maaaaan. I really want to draw something but nothing is bubbling up from within the creative cauldron. I don’t feel on top of my game for portraiture, and my daily existence has been all guitars and sawdust for the last few weeks and that doesn’t really need commemorating.
Grumble. Sigh. Protracted moan.
C. is texting me info about serial killers with weird names while I’m working.
Lachrimaestro 