I don't even know with this one.  Potato bugs and Wale.  Buddhist shit; finding meaning in the smallest of things.

King of the jungle.  Fearful of the plains.

You would think that our favorite past time in this country was the gluttonous devouring of character, autonomy and culture.  Like yeast left alone for too long; allowed to feast on all things sweet and tempting while leaving its very own byproducts. Co2, and alcohol.  The key difference though, between us and yeast, is that yeast doesn't consume itself.  In America, we eat our own.  Viciously, at that - and the byproduct?  A constant cycle of one bold step forward, and two sloppy shuffles back.  One is a popularly used American past time, and the other gets you fucked up.

Late night registries & jäger bombs.  Come wit' it.

I've never really had a faith.  Only ideals, misconceptions, and quotes.  Lately, my quote of interest comes from the underside of a wristband.

If the Eastern Conference Finals turn out to be Cleveland vs. Miami, like I suspect it will, feel free to call out of work and tell your friends/significant other/neighbor/government officials/pets to go fuck themselves.  You won't want to miss this series.

Photo was taken at the Steve Nash Ring of Honor induction game against the Trailblazers.  The only game we got to go to this season, but any chance to shout "M-V-Steve" makes for a good night. 

He about to hit his manager upside the head with an ankh.  A fucking ankh, homie.

All that shimmers may just be copper...

In customer service, acting shitty is just as accepted as accidentally stepping on an ant.  No love lost, no love found.