flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread
He really shouldn’t have let Manic Pixie Otter dye his feathers last night. You know, you’re in a hollow tree, hanging out with assorted woodland friends, someone says, “This’ll be fun!” and before you know it you’re a walking rainbow and then children are trying to bash you with sticks on the assumption that candy will come out. Public service message, y’all: teaching children that their favorite characters are full of candy if they just hit them hard enough ends poorly from everyone. Please learn from the Great Smurf Bludgeoning of Ought Three.
Also, I totally just typed ‘public service massage’ before I corrected it, and now I think that should be a thing. Not full body, necessarily, but maybe someone to stop super tense people on the street and give them neckrubs? Not me, because I value my personal space, but other super tense people. . . maybe not, actually. I think I just want a neckrub and some cocoa.