this sign is hanging up in my moms office
When the beat of a song is good, but the lyrics are trash:
i should just go to bed
Here lies Philip J. Fry, named for his uncle to carry on his spirit.
it is september 20th, the technical start of the autumn season. you sigh to yourself, letting the baseball cap in your hands fall to the ground. it’s no longer summer. your hat is off your head, and not worn backwards. it is no longer time to fucking party.