the amount of times i think about when thanksgiving will bless me with its presence is inappropriately maniacal. i am constantly thinking about thanksgiving. i am constantly thinking about mashed potatoes. i am constantly craving a transient day in which i inundate my existence with massive amounts of food. there is nothing in life more fulfilling than immersing yourself in said things. find me impregnated by juicy pieces of turkey. find me drenched in soup. find me suffocating in mashed potatoes and gravy. fucking find my plunging my person into a vat of starch and carbohydrates. it's nine twelve in the morning and thanksgiving is making me question my sexuality.
dated march thirty-first, marks the continuity of an eight-month thirst
