Shit I Found on my Phone

I think of my phone like I think of my toilet. Once every three years, I peer into its darkest, most mold-encrusted corners and briefly contemplate cleaning it. I scrape off two layers of caked shit-dust and gag. Then I give up.

Also, I rub my face against it, but that is a story for another day.

This is the retirement home across the street getting their weekly shipment of old people. The expired ones are then shipped out in big wooden boxes. DeadEx does some good business in this market sector.

SHOPPING IS ART. FREEDOM IS SLAVERY. WAR IS PEACE.

Do NOT steal this lock. It is someone’s property!	This lane reserved for people with lightning-farts.
Underground Man and I sought to answer the age-old question: can you hide a mostly-empty Naked juice bottle in a napkin holder?	MYTH: CONFIRMED.
One is for plastic, the other for “thank you”. It’s clearly-marked where you deposit respectively hydrocarbons and goodwill.	I walked past this terrifying tree-face every day during middle and high school. I don’t know how the rest of the old dead tree manages to stand with all that hollowed out at the bottom. My working theory is witchcraft.

And now, the thrilling conclusion…

THE UGLIEST GODDAMN CHAIR EVER

Fuck you, Syracuse.