Fuckass has been yelling for months at this point,
“PLEASE LET’S BUY A BUNCH OF POLYMER CLAY AND START A DECORATION EMPIRE!”
And I just keep having to be like, Fuckass,
we’re gonna make three things that aren’t sellable and then be bored and never touch it again, and Fuckass is like
“NO SERIOUSLY IT’S DIFFERENT THIS TIME BECAUSE I’VE BEEN LONGING FOR MONTHS!”
And then I have to say, Fuckass,
you’ve been wanting a loom and a rug making machine for months too, develop a hyperfixation on landing us an investor sugar parental who just
~trusts us~
or shut up.
And then Fuckass screams like a banshee into the autumn night.
—melony ppenosyne
Flommist Melony Ppenosyne is a writer and weird artist type. In the last year alone, she’s traveled to Virginia as a competing poet, co-written a play on mental illness that is presently being produced, and crafted a published essay checking the privilege and scope of art galleries. Copyright © 2021 Melony Ppenosyne.
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