I passed a pill bug that was stuck on its back, and without thinking, I bent over and flipped him. If it could talk, it would have probably thanked me, but I felt really good about it anyway. That’s why I think I should be the next president of the United States.
The name's Tim. Nice to meet you, maybe.
I play guitar, sing silly songs, write stuff, draw shitty pictures and make people on the Internet mad on a professional level. I drink a lot of tea and write letters to pen pals. I also think about death a lot.
Whenever I delve into the “help” tag, I look at the avatars of the people posting and read their posts in my head. And I imagine how their voices would sound, which is something I do for everyone on Tumblr, really. But everyone in the “help” tag just sounds whiny. It’s kinda funny to imagine a room full of whiny people just yelling their problems loudly, heads tilted towards the ceiling and mouths wide open.
That’s what I envision every time I’m there.
You have three nuclear bombs that will completely destroy a single Tumblr tag each. No one will be able to post anything relating to those tags ever again. Which do you choose?
Oh, by the way, Tera…
Your letter came on, like, Friday or something, but I’ve been at my dad’s. Just got home, and it was on my bed.
Thank you so much for the tea! Tea is my favorite thing to drink, right next to root beer, so I really appreciate it. Funny thing is, I already sent tea to another one of my pen pals (out of the hundreds I seem to have, right now) tea, so it’s amazing that I got tea back already. Will write you back tomorrow or some time this year.
Okay. Time for a social experiment. More news at eleven.
"Did you know that potatoes are legally considered magical by the state of Vermont?"
—lies I think of to start conversations with cute girls because I don’t know what else to say
I don’t care if this was already done. I just had the thought and it already happened, so don’t argue.
Face it.
You will one day have a daughter, who will grow up and eventually bring home some guy named Lunchbox (which is his real name), and she’ll think he’s great and nice and smart, when really he smells like a recently dead animal and steals your silverware when you aren’t looking.
And you’ll only be able to give them your blessing because at the wedding, you’ll get him alone and present him with a wedding gift of silverware, and then stab him to death with a teaspoon.
It’s inevitable.
The character Ling-Ling was based upon me. True story.
"At least my breath doesn’t smell like hot gym shoe milkshakes."
—Something awesome I said to this chick
