No cares, no worries, no thoughts. Just a nice, cool bed of moss and the countless bits of life that make up the decomposition process.

A final bit of everlasting peace.

That also takes dedicating a good chunk of time to practice.

Backpacks are also an option. It’s been my preference, also handy if I need to lug anything larger around for some reason.

Bonus points: Lotta space to put pins for decoration. Downside: Damn, enamel pins get expensive.

I didn’t realize “beefed” had a meaning like that. Funny how usage changes.

My brain immediately goes to someone busting their ass after messing up a skateboard trick.

Except for a few times.

Like the island full of zombies.

Or K.I.S.S dealing with interdimendional threats by riding on a giant guitar ship powered by rock, and that Gene Simmons may be a literal demon, not just an abhorrent human being.

Ain’t nothin’ in the RAW that states a sentient pile of dust can’t play basketball.

Their fault for being more edible than the rest. Get less tasty, maybe you’ll get a better name!

That still doesn’t give you carte blanche to steal everyone else’s rocks.

Give 'em back.

“Lifeless black eyes, like a dolls eyes”.

Just get a buddy to sit in the back with a hand on it, maybe give it a good “ain’t goin’ nowhere” while they give it a pat.

Seems to work for all the construction crews in my area.

No one else built a Walking Eye.

Look around. Who else has a Walking Eye? That’s right, Walking Eye, everyone wants a piece.

Just avoid Australia, you’ll be fine.

They’ll look mean, and your cook can at least handle a couple methheads(maybe more, depends on when they last stepped out back to take a bump), but if you’re not there to cause problems, a lot of that demeanor can fall away.

Especially your owl crews. They gauge you upon entrance, you’re either fucked to the gills to start shit, or you’re that special kinda person who really just wanted some smothered, covered, and chunked hashbrowns at 1:45AM.

But he’s fully functional!

His crippling meatball addiction. She can never know he fell off the wagon. I’ve seen it before. You think it’s a safety food, the easy pick off the menu. Then you hear something messing with the trash cans late one night, go out to check, and there’s your neighbor, in their underwear, six cans deep into a Chef Boyardee overload.

"Kick out the methheads, we’re moving up to purely a crack den.

Next step? Opium parlor."

“Can’t expect me to train my replacement if I don’t remember how I did it!”

Pigs are aware of how delicious they are.

The scarier thing is that pigs are aware of how delicious we are.

You played as an ancestor of Spider Jerusalem?

We need to normalize platonic vulnerability sessions. Just having a nice cuddle with friends, feeling open and okay.