It's when my doodles are turning into this type of crap combined with emotions that are throwing me for loops at almost seemingly unpredictable rates these days that makes me think something has seriously gone wrong in my brain

and there is a extremely large syringe just cut out at the bottom.
It may have Promethazine in it.





He wants to cram it in you
regardless of gender
the whole two feet
and load you up
to unconciousness
with the syrup.

Seriously, the things I feel sometimes makes me want to get a pill or two and sleep it all away. But I don't have the money for that type of crap. <b>And I'm no thief, dammit. I MEAN THAT </b>