wit & shit
not literal shit, and not a whole lot of wit either
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that time of year when you will be uncontrollably angry over stupid fucking orchids. how every time you see them, you will want to smash the vase against the floor and tear the stupid fucking petals into a million stupid shreds.
how instead, you will quietly take bong rips with your brother and re-commit to a life of spinsterhood which inevitably ends with you dying under a pile of cats.
