4-letter-words

me: CANT IS A 4-LETTER WORD 
me: so is love but you dont see me bitching 
friend: haha nice, where you get that? 
me: made it up 
me: some girl 
me: is like 
me: hey 
me: CANT IS A 4-LETTER WORD 
me: as her status 
friend: but what's the point of it? 
me: exactly 
me: saying you cannot do something is wrong? 
me: uhhh 
me: I cant fuckin fly 
me: I cant 
me: grow 2 more arms and be a superhero 
me: uhhh 
me: I cant look like shakespeare or jack the ripper on command 
me: I cant deadlift 350 pounds 
me: ... 
me: these are all things I cant do 
me: ... 
me: her husbands name is mark 
me: which I thought was hilarious 
me: M-A-R-K 
me: C-A-N-T 
friend: i love it 
me: four letter words are a KILLER

LOL

me: ima go eat another bowl :P 
me: BEE ARE BEE 
friend: LAWL OHKAY 
me: LOL AHM BACKK 
me: LOL RU THEIR 
me: LOL 
me: LOL AARON 
me: LOL 
friend: LOL WUT R U DOEN 
me: LOL NUTTIN HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHHAHAHAAH 
friend: LOL SAME. 
friend: IM BOREEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDD 
me: heh we're very cool people

nickasaur

friend: ever heard of nickasaur? 
me: heh yeah 
me: who's he 
friend: heh he's a kid 
friend: who's a pussy of the world 
friend: he makes brilliant techno music 
friend: but he doesnt wanna be signed 
friend: nor does he want to take his shit into the studio 
friend: and get it done 
friend: he says he'll do a tour 
friend: but he's too pussy to get people to help him 
friend: and he loves God 
friend: wtf. 
me: nickasaur: on 60 seconds

That Quiet Thing Molly Must Be Stupid.

(with respect to others love of dogs)

Every cat knows when you’re going to die. So they don’t waste time right now, knowing you’ll still be there later. Instead, they disappear all day, to times and places, discovering the galaxies and magicians of ancient and far-off, witnessing the exploding planet, the dying sun, seeing pharaohs and dinosaurs and vikings, creating their own worlds that they may watch burn to ash under their eyes, worshiped by a civilization as Gods. And at the end of the day, they come home and meow for food. Wanting to just be pet and held and loved, and holding the same fascination for string that humanity does in equal for flashing lights, gunpowder, and war.

Every bird knows where you’ll die, so they chirp and sing their song to make you stay with them, hoping to prolong your life and cheat the death, known inevitable. All the murders singing and following you to your demise, hang the blue-jays, but may they save you.

There’s only one fish. His name is Gus, and he is the only soul that all fish are. The fish knows how you’ll die, so he sits and does nothing to warn you. If you knew, it’s not like you could change it. Gus doesn’t know where or when you die. All he knows is how, and sees it every time you see his eyes. He thinks you’re better off not knowing.

And every dog knows when, where, and how they will die, but thinks you will live forever. So they take every pet and scratch behind the ears, forgives when you yell or step on their paws. They try to eat dinner with you, every night, no matter how many times you shoo them away or call them stupid. They just want to be a happy memory after they move on, because they think you’ll live forever. And no dog wants to be forgotten.