i’m not a playa i just smurf alot.
flowers and bunnies
anyway, once upon a time, long ago, in a land far far away, a land known as richlandtown, lived a farmer. and on this farm he had some… things. you know, farm shit. a barn, some cows; a field or three, with veggies growing in em; a stable, with like horses and shit (literally. ever seen a stable? lots of horse shit in it.) anyway, on this farm, the most important thing to this story, he had a garden. and next to it, a field that him and his wife grew flowers in. beautiful flowers. lavender, tulips, daisies and poppies. marigolds, carnations, baby’s breath and thistle. if it flowered, they grew it. and dried it and sold it. people drove their buggies from miles around to buy their flowers. it was seriously that fantastic of a flower field. anyway, the garden though. it was a nice garden. had everything they needed for the family in it: lettuce (4 kinds), tomatoes (3 kinds), beans (5), radishes, cucumbers, carrots, and potatoes. an amazing garden it was indeed. the farm provided the income, the garden provided food. anyway, near the garden, at the verge of being the field of flowers, there was a shed. the farmer stored all the small stuff he needed for his garden there. and under this shed, there lived a family of bunnies. and not just a regular “mom, dad, and kids” kinda family, but an extended one. aunts, uncles, and cousins galore. grandparents, grand uncles and aunts… in short, a regular rabbit family. anyway, this was back when. years ago when richlandtown was rich in land and short on town. back when it was just an area, not a throughway from quakertown to bethlehem. back when it was beautiful. anyway, these bunnies, they had it great. the farmer and his wife loved them. they enjoyed waking up and seeing them in their yard. they knew the bunnies ate from their garden, but it didn’t matter. they grew more than they themselves could eat. and the bunnies took advantage. they grew fat and lazy. they stopped trying to find other food, and relied solely on the farmer’s garden. and it all worked out. years went by in this manner, generation after generation of bunnies, the farmer and his wife growing older and older, watching the bunnies grow up and move on, always a family living under the shed. anyway, one day, the farmer died. he was old then, and it was his time to go. he had lived a full life; he lived, he loved, he worked. his wife was sad, but she knew that death was a part of life. she knew that death was the admission price for being allowed to live, even though it was collected at the end of the ride. and she was old too by now, she knew her time would come soon and she’d get to see her husband again. she was naïve like that. she had faith. anyway, the wife suffered silently, sure of her reward. the farm also suffered, also silently (because farms can’t talk), and the wife tried her best to save it. the only problem was she was no good at growing vegetables. so she did what she could, and that was grow flowers. the field of flowers flourished, but the rest of the farm suffered. the fields of veggies went to seed. they went unplowed, unturned, and untended. the garden? it too suffered of course. it became a plot of weeds. and the rabbits? they suffered too. also silently. anyway, the rabbits. they had come to rely on the garden, and too a lesser extent, the fields of veggies. they suffered. the first generation after the death of the farmer suffered the most. they didn’t know how to find food for themselves. they searched, and they strained, and found just enough food to feed their children. but they kept the memory of the farmer alive. the memory of the farmer and his garden. anyway, time went on, as it always does, and soon the wife became too old to take care of even the flowers. and the bunnies noticed. A few years went by, and generations of rabbits saw that she came to the back door less and less frequently. and when she did, she made less and less trips into the backyard. the trips she made became journeys, her hips and knees only allowing her an awkward shuffle. And the rabbits saw. anyway, there came a time when the wife stopped coming out. she was gone. the rabbits knew before anyone else. they could smell it. soon some people came and they took her body away. the farm, and the rabbits, were alone. anyway, that year, the field of flowers grew like it had never grown before. the flowers were taller and more colorful than they had ever been before. their sweet smells carried on the wind for miles. neighbors came from no short distance to see the flowers that had made that beautiful odor. and who had tended the field? why the bunnies of course. they grew it in the memory of the farm, and the people who had loved them. anyway, how do i know all this you ask? because behind my house, through the alley, past the yards, over the street, and into the fields…. there’s still a patch of flowers. it sprouts and grows every year. no one cares for it, no one tends it. it springs up from the ground as if it was supposed to be there. no one cares for it except for the bunnies. they still keep the memory alive.
when life gives you lemons, grind them in someone’s eye and gank their wallet. then go buy better fruit.
This is from earlier and oh my God I’ve been like, drunk for the past five days it’s awesome. I love myself sometimes. I’m hilarious.
It’s mostly hilarious because like, I can control myself when I’m drunk.
Mostly beacuse I’m not really drunk. I’m just like, that little step inbetween tipsy and shit faced
so it’s been pretty sweet
I mean, there is no other explanation for what is going on in this picture so maybe you should all just fuck off
god i love smart, sexy, drunk girls. damn.
this:
is boring and stupid. i’m going to stop this now and look up form my computer. holy shit, i’m on my front porch. on a couch. and it’s 4:45am. birds are starting to chirp. and chirp angrily for dominance. fucking birds. wtf.
still, it’s the real world. and it’s better than this computer.
