do you ever look back at your relationship with someone on the internet and just think oh my god i’m so fucking glad i clicked follow they make my life so much better
hannibal kills and cooks a clown. halfway through dinner, he looks up, says “does this steak taste funny to you” he smirks. nobody gets the joke.
YOU KNOW THAT FEELING WHEN YOU FIND A NEW FAVORITE CHARACTER AND YOU CAN FELL YOUR SANITY SLIPPING AWAY FROM YOU AS YOUR HEART BURSTS FROM YOUR CHEST AD YOU SCREAM THEIR NAME TO THE HEAVENS
FISTBUMPS TO EVERYONE WHO INITIALLY SPITE-STANNED ELEMENTARY. A+ return on investment y’all, crack open a cold one with me.
You’re not a REAL Gatsby fan unless you’ve read the book. Unless you’ve read every Fitzgerald book. Unless you’ve read their early drafts, mailed to you by Fitzgerald himself. Unless you first read Gatsby when Scott handed it to you in a Parisian bar in 1925, apologising for the cover when he saw you disapproved. Unless you embarked on an intense friendship with him that culminated in rumours that you two were having a clandestine homosexual affair. Unless you once took him to the Louvre so you could prove to him that his penis wasn’t any smaller than those on the statues there. Unless Scott turned up, drunk and uninvited, at your house so many times that you had to move more than once. Unless you continued to exchange increasingly infrequent and terse letters with him for the rest of his life, then missed his funeral because you were in Cuba. Unless you called his literary talent “as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly’s wings” and won a Nobel prize and wrote For Whom The Bell Tolls. That’s right, you poser, if you’re not Ernest Hemingway you can fuck straight off right now. We’re on to you.