Highs and Lows, Highs and Lows, my feelings sink and my mind blows. There is no room for even keel, I can only offer my highs and lows, highs and lows.

I'm Back Bitches!

(via floodwaters)

You and Angela should come over to the Zoeller’s. Call Will for directions.

Calm

I sent a Facebook message to Chelsey that explained how I feel for the first time in aproximately 9 months. I told her how I’ve emptied out my pallete of emotions, and replaced everything inside of me with an external layer of prickly sticks of sarcasm that fends away intruders, and provide a weapon of attack when I feel I’m being cornered into an emotioal or egotistical defeat.

I told her how I’m one-dimensional and can’t have a serious relationship, romantic or otherwise, with anyone because I have such a soft and fragile underbelly. I told her I feel the pressure to relieve any of my beliefs or morals subject to critisism by covering my past with humerous tracks of unoriginal dialog, and I told her how much I miss feeling depleted, and how much I miss feeling like I had something worth fighting for, and how much I missed caring about something so much I would suffocate myself to save her from a hiccup.

I didn’t say all that, but I said all I could, and now I feel like I’m gaining some of that emotional stamina back that I’ve been missing for so long. How could anyone ever love again, if they were so terrified of being humilated or hurt? I’ve been playing life by easy outs, corners with perforated edges, and it might be time to let up my guard against the blows, and bleed a little so I can feel the swell of emotion again.

Puberty is a bitch.

Will Medley

bael:

your art always makes me smile/giggle. bobby and i both agree that we want you as our official album art/design person. we have 2 new ideas for the covers of 2 seperate e.p.’s that are coming up. we also like us better as Puppet Pals than regular people. it just adds to the comedy of it all

1. Birthed in Fecal Matter E.P. - bobby and i engulfed in a pile of poop, with jesus’ face in the poop in a mysterious way or something to that effect. kinda like the jesus in the grilled cheese thing i guess, except this is poop.

2. Murder the Pope E.P. - bobby and i stabbing the pope, who is smiling whilst bleeding profusely, with jesus in the background giving a big grin and 2 thumbs up. with a shiny smiley sun. and a rainbow. maybe in a meadow of flowers or something.

Bob, I think you might be the most pretentious person I know… however this may actually make you original.

nwelsh01:

This is an amazing idea!

This is just an example of social marketing… not a revolutionary idea to encourage environmental development.

He’s mostly generating good PR for a company that ultimately is not running a sustainable business. This is an awful idea.

A more appropriate approach would be to stage protests, riots, and blackmales unleashing a negative PR campaign for all major retailers who were being envrionmentally unfriendly or unclear about what they are actually doing to go ‘green’.

Malmo

16 cents equals 1 swedish krona.

Dogs are openly accepted everywhere.

Bike riding is standard form of transportation.

Design and art dominates.

I will live in Switzerland before I turn 25.

Appalachian Trail

averagehero:


if nacho goes back up on the wall, then my answer is yes

I didn’t say nacho has to stay down. he was trying to fight me.

Appalachian Trail

Would anyone want to hike/”camp” the appalachian trail?

Not the entire thing, but I’m thinking a 40 or 50 mile portion near Knoxville, TN. We would need nothing more than a trip to REI and a few snack packs.

Will and Nick Flood, I’m pretty much directing this question to you guys.

I NEED

to get out of this house.

It’s convenient that I have another.

Different

averagehero:

You ripped Nacho Libre off of the wall.

haha. yep.

Katie Thompson is Coach Class

Walking through my house this morning I noted each pile of waste, preparing myself for a day’s worth of cleaning.

Groups of half empty beer cans sat innocently on end tables, and plastic cups formerly home to mixed drinks peered opposite of each other across twin beds suggesting some aspiring Juno-s out there.

There were dozens of frozen meal packages scattered across the house, and desolate flavored cigarette packages dangling from the porch’s edge.

Despite the mounds of recyclable materials, and sprinkles of orange juice— not to mention the pollock-inspired vomit painted across the bathroom floor— the largest and most irritating mess I found was the half-batter of cup cake mix spewed across my freshly wiped tin sink.

Who was behind this disgusting, demeaning, disrespectful disaccord from tolerable deportment?

Katie Thompson of course.

Thank you Katie for ruining my life for the THIRD YEAR IN A ROW.