I’ve dabbled enough in paganism to confirm that worshiping nature and the sun is a hell of a lot more meaningful than making up shit about God and wearing special hats. Sure, we know what nature and the sun is, but it doesn’t make it any less spectacular, or any less of a genuine creator before our very eyes.

“This!”

“Thanks for the gold, kind stranger!”

Why do they have to say the things? People don’t say the things here.

Was Ernest okay?

My kid is the only one in the cul-de-sac with Minecraft. We have quite the popular couch this month.

I saw a video once of a giant centipede devouring a live mouse, and it still fucks with me every time I think of it. I still remember that mouse’s eyes.

Centipedes are the absolute worst of the worst in terms of disturbing insects. I can’t even look at one without my brain vividly simulating the way all of those crispy little legs would feel clinging along the length of my arm.

Birds don’t know shit about microphones.

I used to contemplate jumping in the air, then quickly using my foot to spring upward off of my other leg/foot, and repeating that until I’ve reached a desired elevation.

Brought to you with love by Duncan Hills coffee!

I feel like if there’s anyone out there who would use this new information to make right by the Blobfish, it’s him.

My sister-in-law has them all throughout her house and I’m just like, “You know you have a teenage boy, right? You ready for that?”

My rule has always been simple. It I’m in its house (outside), it’s not my business. If it’s in my house, I have to make a choice. That choice was always smash (I’m arachnophobic), but my daughter has led me down the paragon path and I now save more than half of all spiders inside of my house. Maybe more. I don’t get that many spiders in my house here in arid western Canada.

Damn, that was a good period, too. They just don’t make 'em like they used to.

I’m not Christian/religious at all, but I still have a very deep nostalgia for classic Christmas hymns like Silent Night, O Holy Night, etc. I remember sitting beside my tree as a child listening to our music lights playing midis of all of them. The lyrics can be discarded entirely.

Mainly the nostalgia of it. The familiar peaceful Christmas hymns and the way Christmas lights reflect against soft snow. My spirit drifts somewhere between commercial Christmas and Yule.

squirmi-squirmi-squirmi-squirmi, (duh-duhn…) squirmi-squirmi-squirmi-squirmi… (guitar)

Whenever I book flowers for work, there is one at the very bottom called “Flowering Planter 7in Ass”. For years now I’ve laughed every time.

Did the scientists at least think the worms were getting better on the drums?

Being an entomologist would be sweet as hell. You walk into the lab on a Tuesday morning and Jerry, a gray-bearded researcher with spectacles and a friendly demeanor is like, “Hey, come over here, Kevin. Come look at this bug.”, and you go over there and see the coolest fucking bug.