When I’m making coffee, sometimes I’ll get impatient and take the pot out while it’s still filling up and pour myself a cup, allowing some of the still-dripping coffee to drip onto the hot part of the coffee maker and make a sizzling sound while staining it. And I don’t even care.
That’s just a peek into my twisted psyche.
I’m so twisted that to me, crazy straws are just straws. I’m so fucked up even a good morning is just morning. I’m so dark and demented that it just feels like they’re bouncing on it style.