realization that all you got to show for yourself this week is some wacky devil skulls
.or biker tattoos?
this is what happens when the people who design home decor for Michael's halloween section find out about Damien Hirst. And your friend has a really big backpack. and there's too many conch shells in your house. and then you lose track of what you've been up to for a couple days only to surface from your stupor/memory-lapse/time vortex only to discover that every surface of your house is covered in tiny shrines to anonymous goddesses
oh shit not again
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