—
dear samantha
i’m sorry
we have to get a divorce
i know that seems like an odd way to start a love letter but let me explain:
it’s not you
it sure as hell isn’t me
it’s just human beings don’t love as well as insects do
i love you.. far too much to let what we have be ruined by the failings of our species
i saw the way you looked at the waiter last night
i know you would never DO anything, you never do but..
i saw the way you looked at the waiter last night
did you know that when a female fly accepts the pheromones put off by a male fly, it re-writes her brain, destroys the receptors that receive pheromones, sensing the change, the male fly does the same. when two flies love each other they do it so hard, they will never love anything else ever again. if either one of them dies before procreation can happen both sets of genetic code are lost forever. now that… is dedication.
after Elizabeth and i broke up we spent three days dividing everything we had bought together
like if i knew what pots were mine like if i knew which drapes were mine somehow the pain would go away
this is not true
after two praying mantises mate, the nervous system of the male begins to shut down
while he still has control over his motor functions
he flops onto his back, exposing his soft underbelly up to his lover like a gift
she then proceeds to lovingly dice him into tiny cubes
spooning every morsel into her mouth
she wastes nothing
even the exoskeleton goes
she does this so that once their children are born she has something to regurgitate to feed them
now that.. is selflessness
i could never do that for you
so i have a new plan
i’m gonna leave you now
i’m gonna spend the rest of my life committing petty injustices
i hope you do the same
i will jay walk at every opportunity
i will steal things i could easily afford
i will be rude to strangers
i hope you do the same
i hope reincarnation is real
i hope our petty crimes are enough to cause us to be reborn as lesser creatures
i hope we are reborn as flies
so that we can love each other as hard as we were meant to.
”
"— Jared Singer, An Entomologist’s Last Love Letter
(Source: speioritur, via geometricant)
Dont sell my girl no weed bruh, u sell it to me, i will give it to her. My girl come home, and already gotta dub bag of chronic, im not smokin with her, cause i know she fucked. Dont even drive ya girl to go get the weed “babe ima run upstairs n get it” she up there for 10-15mins u sick! If the weed dealer fuck ya girl, u gotta snitch on his whole operation b. Let me find out the weed dealer fucked my hunny, dawg im in the detective office, givin out DIMES. And while im snitchin, im throwin my girl under the bus! “Yes officer my girlfriend cops a ounce from him on every 1st sunday, in the apt on the third floor apt 3c”. And when the cops go in for the bust, im makin a citizens arrest! Cops bust in the door, catch ya girl in there butt ass naked choppin up her ounce, weed dealer tkin a shower. Detects bring u in “we got him son!….but we found ya gf in there also, she might be lookin @ 8yrs” u sickkk. U goin to the trial, ya gf in shackles cryin, u just hurt dawg! But u gotta stay strong cause she cheated on u. Weed dealer in jail HOT u snitched, nigga tellin his mans to smoke u! Weed dealer got his niggas outside ya moms house in blk vans, ya mom in the kitchen fryin chicken, they bust in the door. Pot of chicken fall on the floor, moms screamin. U at ya moms funeral, weed dealer got his niggas outside, they lettin the choppa rip! Pastor shot, grandmoms passed out. Bullet fly thru the casket hit ya moms in the rib, u hear her say “ouch” u cryin but confused cause u thought she was dead
