I have no inspiration.
I have no idea what to draw, and I have nothing interesting or of worth to write. And tears are easing out of my tired eyes just be-freakin-cause.
You know, if life is going to be like this, I might as well be a snail.
All they have to worry about is not being trampled on.
And who wants to step on a snail anyway?
It feels all squishy and gross.
Half of their work is done by the stepping-on-snails-is-gross societal community anyway.
Whythehuckleberryfinn was I not born a snail!?
On the flip side;