Thursday, April 30, 2015

one from the heart

Dear Interwebs,

I have the mother of all hangovers.

Please lay my head on your lap, stroke my cheek with the knuckle of your index finger, and murmur "poor, poor bunny" as I bat my eyelashes furiously.

If you don't think it is laying it on a bit thick, you might want to follow that up with:
How little the world understands us. I think it was Swift who said: "When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confederacy against him."


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