"What do you plan to do with your future?"
You are angry about something. “Clam down,” I text you. You assume I have made a typo, but in fact I am holding a small soldier clam in my hands. He died so young. War is hell
*does something incredibly stupid or embarrassing* well, one day we’ll all be fucking dead. Everybody dead. We’ll all die. Fucking dead. Everyone. Fucking everyone gone. No more bad times.
"yeah, everything’s fine, i just tucked your kid into bed. but can i cover up the clown statue in the corner? it’s freaking me out"
"what? we dont have a kid. take our clown statue and get out of the house right now"