last night I was denouncing some forgettable shitbag to my girlfriend and said “even the ground wouldn’t want him to rot in it” and was instantly projected into the body of a gnarled old irish woman 200 years ago, spinning thread and spitting on the ground as I bitch and look out to sea.
When you bitch so hard you astral project intobone of your past lives
every time i see or read a depiction of steven grant rogers as the simple cleanslicked embodiment of Truth! Justice! and the American Way! i just. get so tired. and offended. how dare you
yeah
like on the outside, steven grant rogers is upsettingly beautiful and… smooth… and gives everyone sweaty thoughts about touching the american flag
but inside, steven grant rogers is like… a wobbly shopping cart filled with rage and gallows humor and weird cats with chewed-up ears. he is that one locked wheel that won’t unstick no matter how hard you try to shove it forward, squealing, through the aisle. that wheel is immovable and furious for Justice Reasons. if it had to, if lives were at stake, that whole shopping cart would fight a wild bear or a helicopter or the devil himself. that cart would kick its own ass