I am told that BFF's inability to manage picture widths is deliberate. One of the beauties of having a BFF true is that we can mockingly and scathingly disagree about aesthetics, morality, the nature and importance of truth and beauty, and how badass black helmetball uniform jerseys look, come up gigglingly agreeing to disagree, and move on to the next topic, as long as neither of us becomes an actual Republican. And given various threats by each of us over time, the epistemological implications thereof, and the resulting results and fallout, I'm not even sure about that last bit. So here it is: while the picture widths blowing out his column widths are totally fucktarded, they're not indicative of anything beyond a little aesthetic fucktardery, which is by far the most liveable of the things over which we agree, by nature, to disagree.
In that same vein, I'd like to point out that, while we fear what we fear, and I find the Bay Bridge quite frightening, and we all fear for our children on a permanent sort of basis, I find neither the possibility of a supercollapse in the next three years nor Michelle Lissel all that compelling. Now, Barbara Manatee? She's the one for me.
I spent three days after my hospital release feeling utterly zombified. I'd like to blame my last post on that, but I can't, since I still seem to be brainsing the same topic, more or less. Today I woke up perky and feisty, and lived my life accordingly. Tomorrow? Who the fuck knows? And since this post is turning into exactly the sort of drivel that is the reason why I don't just post whatever's on my mind, and is in mortal danger of turning into a stream-of-consciousness vomit rainbow that would make Hunter Thompson kill himself all over again, I'll just check out until next time.
These Days I Don't Taste Good
18 hours ago