The worst thing about moving is finding a place for everything once you’ve unpacked. Like, WHERE THE FUCK DID I PUT YOU BEFORE? Or, WHY THE HELL DO I STILL HAVE THIS CREEPY TROLL DOLL. DIE EVIL TROLL. Finally, THIS ISN’T EVEN MINE. GET THE HELL OUT OF MY LIFE.
- peter: my name's peter quill, but you might know me by another name
- korath: what?
- peter: *whips on sunglasses* bert macklin, fbi
Thought this week was going well until I ate a twizzler and a tooth fell out. (One of my own teeth, not someone else’s)