sometimes i lean back in my chair, tent my fingers, and preemptively get sad that Dave Wyndorf will die.
this occurs about once a month. it is a hyper-specific thought that i cannot actionably discuss with any other human in my daily life.
dont mind me just getting weirdly sentimental about Monster Magnet.
where's Laser there's like a 0.4 percent chance he'd get this.
he's asleep? what the fuck for?
it's avant garde we ain't gotta explain shit.