flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread
As always, click to embiggen.
Memory is weird. You know how, sometimes, a childhood incident gets turned into a story, and then after a while you’re not sure if it’s a real memory or the memory of the story? This is like that. My mother corroborates that a giraffe did steal my lunchbox on a school trip to the zoo, but would like everyone to know that she is not a monster and was only trying to pack me healthy lunches in the time before insulated bags and ice packs made that easier. I would like to rebut that peanut butter and jelly on rye is just really, really gross. Also, carob is not chocolate and fruit leather is not a fruit roll up. We won’t even talk about the Frookies.