arts and crafts night

Buy a heaving bag of supplies from a dilapidated Michaels knowing before the night is over, it will join the forgotten dreams of other pathetic fucks in the Pacific Northwest Trash Vortex. Sharpen your kindergarten scissors and slice your Achilles to ensure complete stagnation, observing the blood soak into couch you'll eventually die in. Know that the frayed skin will accumulate enough likes to heal, or not heal, but that the ability to exist solely for consumption renders movement irrelevant. Claim that you'll finally create something significant and then spend the night drinking Sutter Home to the sound of tendons swinging in the stale breeze of an oscillating fan and the nasally drone of someone else's content. Make their legacy your legacy. Believe that you've inspired someone. Accumulate more fake hobbies. Create nothing. Consume everything.