Really digging the print work of Chicago based artist Ryan Duggan

Be sure to check out his store here



(via katfetus)

Last Night on Stephen’s Dreams

I was about to eat a baby snake that was part of my salad but it started crying so I let it go near a tree where it started fighting with the chameleons on the tree. The snake slithered off so I picked up one chameleon (which I think was the queen) and it kept wriggling around and it bit me as this fin popped out of it’s head. My finger hurt from the bite so I figured out a way to hold it by the neck so it would stop biting me. 

Fuck the 90s. Everyone was poor and dressed horribly.

The dog and I both came down with a case of the sniffles.

I’m not crazy, I’m just talking to a dog.

The morning sky is a most brilliant shade of sapphire.

I’m a firm believer in the saying “you are what you eat”. To that end, I’ve decided to only eat spaghetti until I’m long and thin like angelhair.

Is no one else disturbed by the fact that exactly 100 years ago there was a giant war in which millions of people just like us were sent to their death for no reason at all? Or that people thought they were achieving something when they were being sent out of the trenches into machine gun fire?

My dreams are getting realer and realer and more disturbing. I really just want them to stop. Such is life.

I can do anything I want, if only I wanted to do anything.

I like giving people gifts

A Dust Bunny Story

The night before our fair university kicked me out on the street to celebrate the end of another school year, I went out with some friends to celebrate life and say farewell to people I knew I would never see again and barely stay in contact with. During the course of the night I ended up consuming around five or ten beers of varying alcoholic content. This led me to hurling homophobic insults at several people for perceived slights that were really my fault or in my head. Eventually I would throw a poorly aimed punch, get roughed up, and finish off the night begging for my blurry opponents to kill me like the dog I am. Sadly for me, they didn’t oblige…

So I woke up the next morning with a sore brain and a feeling of shame that wrapped around me like a felt blanket. Well shit. I had to move out. But at least I had most of my stuff packed. Not that much to do, just need to throw my remaining belongings into my car and call the RA to check out. No problem.

I do just that and the RA appears before me like some sort of skinny genie. He had a mop of dark hair and an oozing of facial pubes that looked like a beard. I wanted to kiss him and slap him. I wanted to feed him fifty burgers and tell him to tell that girl he hangs out with all the time and offers rides to and buys stuff for to either suck his dick or go to hell. He seemed like a nice kid. Until he told me that he couldn’t check me out until I vacuumed up the dust bunnies in my room. He pointed at one by my desk with the broken light that had greeted me when I first arrived as an example. I saw magenta.

His name was Charles and he had been in the room long before I had been forced into my ancient basement hall by the forces of poor housing planning. How dare this little wisp demand his execution! Charles was always good to me. It was he who pointed out the hole in the closet when I first dropped my bags on the grimy tile floor long ago back in August. It was Charles that warned me about the mold on and in the walls that has no doubt shortened my lifespan by a year or so. To kill him would be sacrilege. But despite my protests, the RA refused to budge. It was almost as if he actually believed in the mission of the school. He wasn’t refusing to clean up because he was lazy, he legitimately thought that it was my sacred duty as a S. Student to do work that the school was too cheap to do itself. What next, was I supposed to buy my own exterminator’s kit and kill all the roaches I shared a hall with as well? Fuck that.

If we lived in a simpler time, I would have ripped his heart out and poked out his eyes and told him that his shirt was of an inferior fit. But we don’t and all my yelling did was get my roommate’s father to offer to clean up for me. No, I can clean up after myself. And it isn’t the RA’s fault he’s working for evil either. Well, maybe…

After killing Charles and returning my key I got into my car and drove off into the burst of the morning light. I’d be on I-4 soon enough and could put this shithole of a town behind me, at least until next year…



(via fuxkfuxkfuxk)