It's been said thoroughly enough in the title: vinyls are so very delicately amazing, in every way and facet imaginable. The raw crunchiness and sincerity of the sounds that come out of that record player make my ears cum so hard I literally have to change my earmuffs. Here, now that I've grabbed your attention, allow me to foolishly digress to things that are probably related to food.
We got a caterpillar today. I guess we didn't "get" him so much as we "took" him (from his miserable little existence on the shitty bark of some cold ass tree, mind you). And we've shown that fucker a good time. It's been nothing but fine bitches and flowing brews; he's been living like a king in our cut-up Saltines box full of dirt and assorted woodland bits. But even in this sweet-ass pad, the little Schmuck keeps trying to escape. Or, should I say, trying to leave the party early. He's all green and hairy with a brown little creepy ugly face and an X on his ass. He's adorable. We just wanna have a good time with the guy before he goes and becomes a moth (and as a moth the poor guy wouldn't have a mouth) and mates himself to death! Not that that's a bad way to go out, in fact it's one of the best I suppose. If it should come to that. See, my plan is to live forever. So far, so good.
We're leaving bitches, so y'all can peace the fuck ouuuut.
You-know-who-the-guys-the-usual-guys-you-know-who-I'm-talking-about-thoooose-guys
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