you are never safe. and undies don’t count unless i see them.
Please internet–leave me puns in the comments.
Look people, I know you want me to run for office. I’d be great as a Rebubblican, or even a Democracken candidate, really. I’m attractive to Right Whales and the Working Wrasse (Hammerheads included). I’m a pro-lifer and a pro-cloister. I have strong family values AND I support Rainbow Trout marriage. I’ve already had my share of nudibranch and humpback scandals, so obviously I have sex appeal.
Still–please save your votes and put them towards a more serious candidate. Someone you eel will represent your agenda and hopefully won’t just lamprey on fear. Hope and Conch and all.
As for my political future, I’ll never get into office because I made some controversial paintings of Che Guevara scuba diving in my youth.
And then there was the whole Octopi movement thing. *sigh*
And it is all they do as far as I am concerned.
Oh Moby Dick. I know why you got that name.
Let me tell you a story.
One night a very long time ago, back when I was a different person (last night to be precise) I came home to my apartment, which is a smallish one bedroom in Seattle. My life will forever be divided into the ‘before’ and ‘after.’
Feeling sleepy, lazy, and–I’m not going to lie–a little horny, I took to a bottle of red wine like a puffin takes to unprofessionalism and started doodling.
Take this as a reminder never to drink and draw.
Sometimes when you doodle, important questions spring to mind. Important questions that shouldn’t be asked. Questions about color and perspective, about whether Dali’s mustache was a demon, and about whether it’s more fun to hate on or defend modern art.
Questions like would you rather fuck the aurora borealis or a rainbow. Excuse me, would you rather fuck a rainbow with a mullet? YES or VERY YES. Party in the back indeed.
Oh, and by the way, you’re a flying fucking narwhal.
YOU’RE WELCOME WORLD
By the way–which one would you rather fuck? I’m torn. In the worst possible way.