Things that make me chuckle.

I don’t know why I’m still writing this substack, I started writing stuff during COVID because I liked trying to make myself laugh. Once I got paid writing gigs (by paid I mean about $20 but still) it stopped being fun. I think I subconsciously psyched myself out.

I will never be a writer of great prose, I had to google what “prose” meant not too long ago. I wasn’t put on this earth to write flowery sentences, I was put on this earth to sleep.

Though I love reading great writing, I can’t do it (Elena Ferrante, wherever, whoever you are, I hope both sides of your pillow are ICE cold every single night you lay your beautiful head down to rest).

Anyway, here are things that made me laugh today.

The name Gary. Every grown-up Gary was once a baby Gary, which is silly because Gary is just a name for economists and snails. This Gary is both.

This courtroom sketch of Luigi Mangione. I feel bad about how hard I laughed when I first saw it, this man’s not even had a trial, and Trump’s administration has already painted him guilty and ordered the DP, all serious and scary but why is his head so small and his neck so swoll!!!!!?????/

The artist must be as jealous as I am of his eyebrows. I am not, however, jealous of his due process rights being horrendously violated. Another violation here? Insinuating that his skull shrank in prison while his neck tree-trunked itself into a new dimension so aggressively it blew the hair right off the top of his head. I know courtroom sketch artists don’t have time to fill everything in, and I can barely draw a smiley face, but that neck is inexcusable.

Some weeks, you just have to focus on drinking water and doing the bare minimum of work or school to get by. It's a bonus if you can manage to clean and move your body, but if you just manage to shower, that’s great, too. I think about the crabby patty vault from Spongebob a lot.

Not to brag, but I’m not super depressed at the moment. Fortunately, I truly love where I’m living, I just have no creativity left. I feel like any desire or aptitude I once had for writing sentences is shrinking faster than Mangione’s neck is growing. Maybe that’s how life is sometimes. In the meantime, I will pour my entire personality into crochet. The knitting store has no idea what dark energy will radiate when I stomp in this weekend.