TREE! LAW! UPDATE!
me in the group chat: hey. bad news guys
gc: oh no. you did it again didn't you
me: yeah. i got lost in the beauty of a gif of a dragon from the early 2000s again. sorry
![A screenshot of the poem "I'm not a religious person but" by Chen Chen. It reads: God sent an angel. One of his least qualified, though. Fluent only in Lemme get back to you. The angel sounded like me, early twenties, unpaid interning. Proficient in fetching coffee, sending super vague emails. It got so bad God personally had to speak to me. This was annoying because I’m not a religious person. I thought I’d made this clear to God by reading Harry Potter & not attending church except for gay weddings. God did not listen to me. God is not a good listener. I said Stop it please, I’ll give you wedding cake, money, candy, marijuana. Go talk to married people, politicians, children, reality TV stars. I’ll even set up a booth for you, then everyone who wants to talk to you can do so without the stuffy house of worship, the stuffier middlemen, & the football blimps that accidentally intercept prayers on their way to heaven. I’ll keep the booth decorations simple but attractive: stickers of angels & cats, because I’m not religious but didn’t people worship cats? Thing is, God couldn’t take a hint. My doctor said to eat an apple every day. My best friend said to stop sleeping with guys with messiah complexes. My mother said she is pretty sure she had sex with my father so I can’t be some new Asian Jesus. I tried to enrage God by saying things like When I asked my mother about you, she was in the middle of making dinner so she just said Too busy. I tried to confuse God by saying I am a made-up dinosaur & a real dinosaur & who knows maybe I love you, but then God ended up relating to me. God said I am a good dinosaur but also sort of evil & sometimes loving no one. It rained & we stayed inside. Played a few rounds of backgammon. We used our indoor voices. It got so quiet I asked God about the afterlife. Its existence, human continued existence. He said Oh. That. Then sent his angel again. Who said Ummmmmmm. I never heard from God or his rookie angel after that. I miss them. Like creatures I made up or found in a book, then got to know a bit. [End I.D.]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f5aac61960debdd0590a679c5c9b2e13/204ce6cc3b1cfef9-9b/s1280x1920/c26ff12f56f72b4e91c7d5017e303169649faf6f.png)
![a screenshot of the poem "How to Be a Dog" by Andrew Kane. If you'd like to hear it read by the author, visit the link in body of post below. Otherwise, it reads: If you want to be a dog, first you must learn to wait. You must wait all day until somebody returns, and if somebody returns late, you must learn to wait until then. Then you must learn to speak in one of the voices available to you, high and light or mellow thick and low or middle-range and terse. Whichever voice you learn to speak, you will meet somebody who does not like you because of it, they will be wary or annoyed or you will remind them of something or someone else. Once you have learned to speak you must learn not to speak unless you absolutely must, or to speak as much as you feel you must regardless of how many times you are told to stop, or sit, or placed behind a door—this will depend on what kind of a dog you want to be. And indeed there are many kinds. It may not feel as though you get to choose, and that too is a kind of dog. Next you must learn to relinquish all control over everything you might wish to control. You must learn to prefer to be led about by the neck on a piece of string, or staked to a neglected lawn by a length of chain. You must learn, once you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain, that it is better to return and be chained again. Or you may learn that it is not—a fugitive is also a kind of dog. Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love. You must learn to be confused but never disappointed by a deficiency of love. You must give up your children and not know why. You must lose yourself wholly in activity; you must never feel an itch that you do not scratch. You must learn how to wait at the foot of the bed and hope, silently, that somebody is drunk enough or lonely enough to invite you up, and you must learn not to show your excitement too much or overplay your hand. If you want to be a dog, you must learn to believe that you are not in fact a dog at all. [End Image Description.]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/084dc80d1d1c0fd6cf5310be9f98731b/204ce6cc3b1cfef9-b8/s1280x1920/addbb22c571096a19fc2e25dc9d866b8620d87b1.png)
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ALTYou love to see it. (Not the destruction of trees, obvs, but shitheads meeting their oncoming comeuppance at the hands of trees.)
Ugh, was having a great time mocking my recently imprisoned rival when I noticed the camera positioning makes it so that I appear behind the bars, thus framing me as trapped in a metaphorical prison of the narrative, now my whole day is ruined. Fuck.
fuck
you called???
shit not you
ok and???
HOW MANY OF YOU ARE THERE
don't do this to me
im here too!
joke is over
im being hit over the head multiple times with comically large mallets by a bunch of clowns rn
AHHHHHH YOU'RE KILLING ME
no i am
i am simply a ghost now
no dats me
this post is rapidly spirally out of control
Spirally
FUCKKKKKKKKKKKK
yes :3
Hey guys what’s AUGHHAHHDHDJ waaaaaaaaaaghghh ow!!!
did u know u can pet me and call me cute
you will experience the funny surprise I do!
it appears you pet me!
bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you bites you