.chris

Frankincense is the doctor, Myrrh is the stupid sound the monster makes, Kevin.

Not a manic pixie dream girl, but a lethargic troll nightmare woman.

Stop asking me what is new. Nothing is new. Underneath this hardened carapace, my innards are slowly turning to mulch.

I DON'T WANT TO GO TO THE CHRISTMAS PARTY, I WANT TO STAY HOME AND WORSHIP MY ELDRITCH YULE GODS IN PEACE.

Don't swipe right on the orb of pulsating flesh, no matter what persuasive matters it calls out to you.

I am completely safe for work if you work at the morgue.

Ghostly Victorian child can't hear you over the joyous squelch of the jellied eels.

I said we were going to wax poetic, not wax a poet, Kevin. Put your damn shirt back on.

If you are cold, they are NOT cold. They are a portal to Hell, Kevin. Don't you dare bring them inside.

I leave a piece of me behind every time I dream, so if I get lost the next time I can find my way home. But someday I will wake and there will be nothing left, just a pile of entrails and bones.

There is a man that is made of muffins. Do you know him? We call him the Muffin Man. He is sticky and crumbly and will murder you in your sleep.

Bivalent sounds like I have just been knighted in the bisexual court.