Burnt offerings. My guardian spirits have a devilish sense of humour. They often break things of mine, even wound me when it’s time to make an offering (of literal blood). This week they showed me fraud on my card and froze my account so I could disconnect from the matrix. Today they sent me walking a mile to the bank to apply for a credit card I’m not even eligible for, just so I ‘d spend £10 on my nemesis spanger, and give a Christmas hug to my houseless neighbour. Now, a proper burnt offering with deafening smoke alarms and all. I haven’t laughed this hard in weeks. I am truly joyous, appropriately humble, and deeply thankful. You fun, twisted fuckers. I love you. Hope you human relations had a blessed Yule, and are moved to laugh recklessly. 🥂🔥🦌🥘
Clyde got a science grant and gave a talk in Barcelona (boast! boast!) so I hopped over to meet him. We couldn’t figure out what the sign on the beach could mean besides ‘no women, no swimming, no fishing’.
