What's with flowers?
I don't get them.
Not I don't "get them" get them, but I don't get them. Understand them. Whenever I get flowers for whatever reason, I don't know how people want me to respond. I feel like "I will treasure these plant sexual organs you ripped from the earth for the next ten hours they survive" is a bit a douchey, because hey, free sexual organs.
Don't get me wrong, they're nice to look at.
Then I spent all of today sleeping because I had two hours sleep before the funeral. I was hanging out with two of my best friends the night before, and we went and sat on a rock wall at the beach and watched the dock and ship lights and talked about stuff.
(I didn't draw Josh because I ran out of space and couldn't be bothered resizing the image, but that there is Borg)
(IjustgotillustratorokayIdon'tknowhowtouseit)
(T____T)
We ate fish and chips and got mobbed by seagulls.
Anyways, last night we drove my brother and his girlfriend to the airport, bound for a Sydney film festival they contributed a film to. Whumper had her head out of the window and got jet-stream hammered in the face by a roadside rotatory sprinkler.
Now I keep walking into my bro's room all like "WHAT UP" and then I realise he's not there:
I'm gonna go practice some sweet cartooning methinks.
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