There’s this box that the cats keep sitting in because it’s an empty box and cats have to put their buttholes on cardboard, I guess, but Victor was trying to make me laugh because I’ve been sort of down and so he was like, “Move over, cats. That looks like fun. I’m gonna sit in that box,” but boxes aren’t made for people unless they’re refrigerator boxes (which are awesome and remind me why cats probably like boxes) and so he fucked it all up and it was funny for a second but then the cats were like, “Hey, fucker. Are you drunk? Because stop fucking up our boxes. You have your own box. It’s the house you live in, asshole,” but Victor didn’t care because he can’t hear cat thoughts but then the cats were like, “You know what? Fuck this. This is still our box. You can’t destroy us. Our box is still living on IN OUR MINDS” and I was like, “Whoa. That’s a pretty bad-ass attitude, cats. I salute you.”
(That was the longest run-on sentence I’ve written in a week.)
And I was super inspired because sometimes things are all fucked up but you just keep living and enjoying things even if they’re totally broken. Because that’s what you do when life destroys your box. This is a weird analogy (especially since “box” is euphemism for “vagina”) but you know what I mean, probably. Point? Maybe things are shitty, but if you just keep living sometimes you realize that your broken outside has some nice things going for it. Like, it lets the light in like a skylight on all sides. Even if you don’t want that. Which it sort of seems like the cats don’t, but whatever. Stop glaring at us, cats. Other boxes are coming. We get them all the time, y’all.