My Lover

One of the best parts about going home for Christmas is that I got to indulge my love of pretzels. You peeps in the GB don't understand the pretzel: the depth of flavor, the baked glory and salty majesty of those twisted beasts. Well,

I once made a batch of soft pretzels myself and patented the Triple Twist Bastard: a pretzel with THREE twists in it. Deal with that.

But anyway that's neither here nor there.




FFFFFWahhhhhhtchaaaa! I'm looking THROUGH you, through your pretzel soul. I am the only one who knows your heart.

I know, he's a scary man. He knows things. Ssssh, don't worry, nothing has changed. Somewhere out there, stuffed monkeys are still making moonshine liquor...



... and giant guitars are still featuring heavily in my acid flashbaxxxxxx:



(Um oh my god how fucked up is this troupe of bandits??? It;s like staring at the sun: I close my eyes and they're still there.)