Whenever I start up a Words with Friends game that I haven’t played in a while, I feel like its a coming-out-of-retirement police procedural movie.
And a Hispanic lieutenant named Ortega or Cruz or Barista will be on my ass for my loose cannon tactics, like using Z’s on double-word squares instead of triple-letter squares. Ortega/Cruz/Barista would quip, “You crazy, loco.” And I’d be all like, “Trust me, Ortega/Cruz/Barista, it’ll work! Just wait and see!”
But in the end, it doesn’t work and I am not very good at Words with Friends.
New idea. I’m gonna start a blog that posts cool, old photos with one-word subtitles like “ephemeral” and “indignation”. It’ll be super savvy and deep and cool and it’ll be on the radar all the time.
Paradisiacal
I’m gonna write an edgy, modern-day version of Oedipus Rex. And I’m gonna call it Motherfucker.
Lots of small, edgy, up-and-coming theater companies in Chicago will want to put it on because it’s so subversive and edgy and darkly comedic and shit.
Just chilling with my homie. (Taken with instagram)
Cap’n’s really losing it. (Taken with instagram)
Ugh. This is so art. I’m so art right now. (Taken with instagram)
Ian has never been a baseball player’s name. (Taken with instagram)
Writing a self-reflection paper for Improv class?
