whirlyknives

Everything is always so goddamn complicated. I want to move to the Black Mountain, where the lava lamps are aplenty, people refer to mind-altering substances as "Crunk," "Kill," and "Trip," and all the fucking bartenders down the road a bit, once you get on the decline, on the west end of the small hill slightly below, each and every one of them have a cover band on the weekends that plays nothing but Creedence and Sabbath. Maybe I'll own a little yellow couch and an old wooden table, too. I'll grow my hair long and cover myself in crap ass homemade tattoos. Corrigan can come and live there and the rest of you can visit, as long as you take your shoes off in the house.