you are grrreat

anonymous asked:

Don't take this the wrong way, 'cause it's totally not as creepy as it sounds, but I adore you and your blog (or whatever lovely version of your lovely self you choose to present through your blog) and sometimes I sit here and scroll through it and wish I could consume you and absorb your essence because you are just that grrreat. (But, not in a Hannibal, "I want to eat your liver" kind of way, honest.)

true story you can buy my bottled essence for consumption on the second hour of a blue moon rising at the closest pub located on the edge of a mystical 45 degree creek bend. drink five tequila shots in a precise 7 and a half minute window at witching hour then go out the now-visible back door, whereupon you will find a child clothed in strange nineteenth century garb who never grows up and has a flashing gap between their front teeth in which you can see the precise moment of someone’s death but never your own. this child will - if you tell them the secret password (human kaleidescope) -  sell you an ounce of timelost bio-mech tattoo ink, which you must then take to the eternal Apple store that is hidden in prada marfa.

at this location you may then use your mech ink to barter for various items, including the infamously incompatible iOS Labyrinth, the true ending to fight club, cthulhu selfies, and various other items which all share as the defining characteristic a capacity to open a roaring, hopeless, fiery altered mental state from which you may never truly recover. among these items, hidden behind the cuckoo clock of leonardo da vinci (which chirps according to the data it receives from the dark matter of the universe), is a tiny army of crystal bottles full of my finest essence. if you do choose to purchase such a bottle, you will find it under your pillow approximately year later when you least expect it but when you most need it (hint: it’ll be the day after you drop your phone down a flight of stairs and tell your friend about the shadow you hid behind)

further payments may or may not be extracted in favours and blood sacrifice at an inconveniently rumplestiltskinian time of my choosing.