for the ring around your siamese dream

i have the most hilarious idea: let's blubber on the cou-ch and fall asleep with disabilities. you show me yours; you wait; we suffer for the passage of mathematical measures; "why" is a weather; "why" is our folly and our failure. proliferating roaches can not keep us from that late upholstery, can not keep the body from the house's creaking, the house's brave location, the army of absent inhabitants, the house's abstract return.

would you rather have a lump in your dad or a ring around your sleeping butt? would you rather consider the physics of a lease agreement or forking over for the kitten you've always dreamed of? if you found a petrified ham sandwich in that back of the drawer, would you:

a) hesitate before throwing it out
b) ask it why it did that thing
c) pass out against its humid back
d) watch it for subconscious cues

let's hope there's a hot lunch buffet on the london beach--
let's hope we can rake up the leaves without collapsing into somber dreams.


ambivalence is not a crime, haters

This week's theme: miscellaneous words.

compossible (kom-POS-uh-buhl) adjective

Compatible; possible along with something else.

the other je ne sais quoi

today i saw a little boy in a full spiderman suit, with mask, barefoot, riding a scooter up and down the street. i love this neighborhood. reminds me of home.



cathy reads my emo blog.

Posted by bender at 9:45 AM



need someone to play the banjo just for tomorrow.
need a hammock.
the best dream i ever had.
(herding dog, wheat).

Posted by bender at 11:40 PM


that certain je ne sais quoi

stumbled across this in an old cabinet. it's up there with the pieta and a bromo seltzer bottle.


i accidentally drank a can of caffeinated soda. while this will enable hours of finely-detailed, hyperrealistic, romantic drawing tonight, it will not enable the 10 or so hours of sleep my brain needs to maintain its stunning equilibrium.


"what's the difference (beyond the obvious) between an epileptic corn farmer and a prostitute with diarrhea?"

i just told kevin this on the phone, but the tetris that happens in my head after a nice, hot, challenging game, when i'm falling asleep, is more competitive than you might imagine (as often as You imagine Me playing head-tetris). the pieces, they fall onto the block below, but not the pieces i need. it appears that My brain actually creates a game for Me. which is interesting. in context.

kevin and i just talked about context. a girl asked him [censored] "in form or content." [censored]

now i have to go imagine kevin in the shower as i wait impatiently for the next L-shaped piece to fall. (that's not meant to sound predatory; we had an agreement).

i'm so bored with everything [censored]

posted by bender at 10:43 PM on Mar 21, 2007

Ryan W. said...



this was a pretty good one

"for all of you poet car mechanics"
11 Comments - Hide Original Post Collapse comments
well i recently got a car. today, it didn't start right. i don't know. it just wasn't right. so i opened it. i opened the car. there is a space, under the hood, where something should be. i don't know what should be there, but something is missing, and it's probably a tube of some sort, and maybe a cover for the tube, and maybe also some bolts. [censored]


posted by bender at 11:49 AM on Mar 20, 2007

nationofulysses said...

flux capacitor, you ninny!

1:26 PM
Ryan W. said...

pretty sure that some kind of living animal, or animal part, is needed to connect those things. an eel, or mongoose. maybe just wait and it will come back.

1:30 PM
kevin.thurston said...

begin to feel regret for asking poets

8:20 AM
nationofulysses said...

who's a poet?
screw those assholes.

1:02 PM
bender said...

fuck all y'all, i'm gonna go ask some novelists.

4:25 PM
Ryan W. said...

donkey whore

9:21 AM
bender said...

donkey whore? are you still referencing the problem with my car? because if you're not, this donkey will BRAY, BITHC! BITCH!

9:43 AM
John Ashbery Fan said...

Isn't that your air filter? What gets connected to that? What kind of car is it?

After looking up "what's connected" on wisegeek, I'd say it might be your "intake manifold". I have no clue, really. But I'm terribly curious now.

"Generally, the air filter holder is connected to the intake manifold by a large plastic tube through which the air flows."

12:17 PM
Ryan W. said...

actually I just noticed that there were bad words in the two previous comments so I just decided to try to write bad words

1:12 PM
bender said...


5:42 PM
bender said...

dear john ashbery fan,

that's very astute, looking up 'air filter' on the internet. i hadn't thought of that. but i also didn't identify my air filter; i only identified that i am me, and i drive a car.

'exhaust manifold' sounds magnificent, and may shortly become the new name of my emo log.

john ashbery fan fan

ps it's a honda. purple. purplish-grey.

5:47 PM


on sunday i will go for free to an orioles game with mr. sirois. it...will be fantastic.


to quote kevin thurston,

36 ATP, baby.



i have a hydrophilic head



Posted by bender at 4:47 PM 1 comments



i love american typewriter fonts like some people love other people


real-life update: put in ye olde resignation for 60-pounder, nee autism ravioli.

during my torturous lunch with ryan walker, he said something that has stuck: the more jobs you work, the less money you make. that combined with general stress that that job specifically entails, plus lack of studius maximus time (i lie; it's a concentration problem more than a temporal one), plus loan check equals the joy of decision-making that i can hardly suppress. for some reason i'm under the impression that i will be able to sit on the balcony with the dogs and have a mint julep every night. what a riot!

having many part-time jobs and being in school has made me feel like a more jaded--and yet calmer--version of 18-year-old me, sans the peace sign shaved into the back of my head (true).

is cynicism better or worse than escapism? amongst yourselves, please.


per the ongoing revisi(tat)ion (still back in march, if anyone's comparing the originals side-by-side):

pasteurizing supremely / RULES / link tool


i'm quaker.
or, my selected lifestyle
is pasteurizing supremely.


ryan mentioned bks, and i find this particularly compelling at the moment:

But I don’t have a fact in me.
I let the blog date this poem.

Posted by bender at 12:14 PM 0 comments

maybe some interludes

'luudes, 'duudes


except i'll censor some of it--the dumb stuff.


the why of it
1. birthdays are an arbitrary time to start something; my birthday is not today but is soon.
3. sick.


(blogging announcement to kevin thurston in wait, now.)

Posted by bender at 12:13 AM

i'm sick of blog

i'm just going to re-post the postings i think are worth it, from the beginning, and then i'm going to delete the whole thing. this method will give me enough time to indulge--like the 3 2 1 before ripping off a band-aid.


to quote leigh bender,
"what the hell is a blog, anyway?"

Posted by bender at 12:12 AM


102th/i promise never to post a quiz again

As a child...
You peed on your parents while they were trying to change you
How did it mess you up?
You claim that you can see particles
Take this quiz at

a) we were camping. i was five.

b) i can; i'm in my last life.

this is my 101th post

benders will pants.

this is my 100th post

no balloons. no ed mcmahon. let's reflect on my blogging experience. okay, i'm done.

here is the introduction (first part) from american poetry, edited by demille, copyright 1928.

Poetry is written to be enjoyed. But to be enjoyed
it must first be understood, and to understand and
enjoy poetry


great men





The Foot

the "foot"; each foot

Four kinds of feet


Variations of the foot are common.

by substituting one foot
for another,
feet are

feet are




break, break.

Break, break, break,



The Line

the feet

the feet: one









the "machinery" of poetry


The "heroic couplet,"

lacked va-
riety, and hence was monotonous in effect;
it pos-
sessed, however, almost invariable neatness
with occasional brilliant epigrammatic passages.


great poem:









i also got a brand new phone book from 2002 to sit on in the car.

i'll bet my life my body will never fail me.

when a slight child is painful and there's nothing you can do about it, you almost forget your proximity to them, or that modes are mere idols of intention. you come in and out of realizing them. sometimes it's 3am, and sometimes it's their unabashed voice, and just their rigid bones. this was my experience last night. puritanically speaking, it ebbed and flowed. the sun comes up much earlier than expected, yet barney's terror never waivers.

"unable to read a book for any great length of time, for to abandon himself thus threatened him"

"take that child and teach him senseless"

"artist materials & picture framing"


The object is a collection

a feature of unusual interest.

Little Boy Blue,
I Have a Rendezvous with Death,

The American Flag

in the Winds,

for a Soldier,

The Old Swimmin'-

and The Past,

My Life is Like

A Life

Each and All

A Life
The Wreck
The Village
The Day
The Bridge

My Youth

A Picture
A Ballad

The Blue and the Gray

The Past

A Little While I Linger
Mocking Bird

in the Pines

San Francisco.

Do you Fear the Wind?

The Flag Goes By


The Tuft of Flowers

I Have a Rendezvous

A Farmer
Do You Fear the Wind?


annotated artifacts from the bender museum

i have returned from the mountains. lo, the mountains said the days would be beautiful, and they were, and the mountains said it was ok to talk about the weather, and i did.

my dad dragged out two boxes of stuff from when i was little. here are some highlights.

-star of the week club in 4th grade. adjectives listed by classmates/# times adjective appears:
funny: 7
very funny: 1
polite: 4
likes blue: 1
same interest in music: 1
nice: 5
smart: 2
friendly: 6
very friendly: 2
cuddly: 1
cute: 5
considerate: 1 *this was by a girl who showed me on the bus the way she would empty her heart medicine out of its capsule in the morning, so that she didn't have to take it--she put the actual medicine behind the toilet in her house and only swallowed the capsule in front of her mom. i tried to google her but "julia" only returns wikipedia and movies.
friends forever, nothing can break us apart: 1

-Dear Ms. Bender,

Your letter of June 12, 1991 was forwarded to us from the Game and Fresh Water Fish Commission along with the brochures you designed on the manatee. Your brochures are very informative...

-This year I am 11. I have 2 favorite teachers. Mr. Hill is one of them. He is my math teacher. He is really funny. Sometimes he is rude kind of. Like he wags his behind at our class. But he's really nice. Ms. Whorton is my English teacher. She is O.K., but she acts like we're 20 year olds. Ms. Castle is my science teacher. She's kind of smark-alecky in my opionion. She acts like she's so smart and we're not. Ms. Duke is my social studies teacher. she must use 500 tons of hair spray in the morning. Mr. Apple is my band teacher. He is 29 and already has grey hair. Mr. Ecker is prejudice to girls. He only passes to boys. He things all girls like is gymnastics and the mall and the phone. Well he's wrong.

-LAUREN/RYAN'S MADE UP WORDS (ryan is my brother) ("putt' was my family's word for gas)
A. Actriputt
B. Barnoputt
C. Citypafiss
D. Dimpletox
E. Eeuspeeus
F. Furmolinopee
G. Gertiusputt
H. Hexoctipecan
I. Icgutputt
J. Jumbobuns
K. Kirputt
L. Lencocospiner
M. Metrotrees
N. Nextoputt
O. Opeeun
P. Punkerplunker
Q. Quakersmaker
R. Rumpleputt
S. Shmitterlitter
T. Tuttleputt
U. Upee
V. Ventleputt
W. Weeneepee
X. Xymolypercople
Y. Yukepeuk
Z. Zingieputts


anatomy and physiologeology

did you know that in the bone matrix, collagen fibers are like rebar, and hydroxyapetite is like cement? you can find hydroxyapetite in the rocks of western maryland. sometimes it looks orangish, but that's from impurities. tomorrow i make my way westward, from whence all of my fears emanate. what's more, i will be obliged to pick strawberries and look over the fence for that veal calf, and in the morning i will have corn pops with my dad. then it's off to the mountains to pick up the 60-pounder from camp david, or thereabouts--they're not calling it camp david anymore, the camp that we don't know sits in the catoctin mountains about 2.2 miles from the inside of the national park. you can find rebar in the arms of a one mister sirois, although his arms are made of Korean avatars and his name is made of our generation. we are the Wii of poetries; all of our friends are DJs.

i was SO into these when i was a young westward:


i had lunch with ryan

it feels like living in a sweet crepe, swimming around with my mouth open in a skylite snowcone, and lazing about with my mouth closed on marshmallows. it's like i never have to fear again, because fear has been replaced by marvelous novelty foodstuffs of understanding. oh...oh no.


you don't know how lucky you are
that you don't
swell up like a balloon
and explode.

matrix of the locus
to feign delightful blunder
some reactionary nap
dog knows better than to fence in

no dog; be a dog
to catch in the hands would be
something like a detriment
to return would be something else

"how will i know
when i make a mistake"
if it's not too forward,
i missed my train for a kiddie cone.

one should always view one's art
as horribly embarrassing
there are implications
there are very large bathrooms

to be reckoned with
[beneath all these clothes,
i am a very serious person
with more very serious clothes]


makes the "burp"

i had a tupperware accident in the pet food store and now i can't whistle. hopefully by the end of the week i'll be able to whistle again. mediators of inflammation cause capillaries to dilate, causing the skin to become red. mediators of inflammation also increase capillary permeability, and fluid leaves the capillaries, producing swelling (arrows). my mother used to host tupperware parties (i think), and i would lay on the 70s shag carpet under our glass coffee table and count to 1000. really i would go, "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 100. 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 200...n"



[GRAND!] And The Liberator was upon him! And with a great swell his throat opened, and The Obscure was swept into the briny maw. There were dead fishes all around such that he called out, “There are dead fishes all around!” and was not heard but by the sloshing wine deep in the belly, always aging in its wine-ish.

And the wine drank The Obscure and was pleased in the way it blushes, and yet The Obscure devoured the conflict of his journey as if it were his own god. The Liberator was upon him with names like Denny, Dennis, Denise, Deon, and Asia Minor. So sparse it was difficult. Darkness was not in settling but was settled, and for this The Obscure pleaded, “let it.”

“Do your ritual!” The Liberator boomed, “for it was just that I thirsted, and the storm was so great. Do it. Do your ritual. I didn’t mean it.”

“But I weep.”

“Don’t pull that shit on me, you always weep.”

“No, I am always weeping. Fetch my kindling that your blowhole might lead us to pasture.”

And The Liberator did fetch the kindling. Where his fetching was feminine, sailors chantied and pined. Where it was not, they swore; they roughhoused and sickened; they shot the moonlit curves into murk and fathoms. Stories arose in his blubber; in the wounds filling, never full; into his clean wounds; out of his clean wounds in white pieces and wine, into obscurity.

Dionysus had accidentally eaten Heroclitus.


Dionysus was upon him.

You are everything I ever wanted.
No more defined than…



Every whale is driven to pasture
With a blow.

Every war mostly stems from


How to say…


A problem with language.

Every bed has with it
A softness,
Making it hard to sleep.


Is this your fish?
I found it choked to death in my hands.
Here are five words to do with the Wild West:

I can’t remember the other three.
(I’m sorry; it was an Occident).

I found these two and a half things of interest
In its belly:

A diving mask
A viking hat
Unrestrained aesthetics of force
A list consisting of a diving mask, a viking hat and unrestrained aesthetics of force
Spare change
Gay pride
A problem
A kind of posture
Another fish


I don’t know if you know this,
But Rush did a song about it.

Stephen Sondheim knows your pain. He knows.
He can bring your dead writer friend back.

This is all true.
Every time you spontaneously combust
It’s a surprise.


In the model there are thermoplastics
Enzymes competing for your attention
For your impression upon others who blog

Let’s hope that nasty case of antiquity doesn’t flare up
There will necessarily be parts missing
In the model there is a large feline
There is also an aspect of devastating melancholy
One is only slightly bigger than the other

My, this is decadent!
And finite.


In the whale it stands to reason that
Imaginary numbers are real
I am so afraid of being afraid
That even the richest coffee in the world,
Crafted by Colombian artisans,
Can’t bring me back.

Scientists call this
“poems written on the day of the reading.”
Whenever an individual forms an asymmetrical
Friendship bracelet, there will necessarily be
Other ideas toward the world, like friendship pants,
Friendship tankini suits with friendship soft cups,
Friendship onesies,
Friendship traditional Mayan garb,
Friendship fanny packs.

One project is to weave a full friendship wardrobe
For no one in particular.
Another is to weave a friendship gun.
A third is to weave a letter of apology
For the time it takes to weave the letter of apology.


So rare, this common channel,
Reach down to touch the manta ray,
Reach in to tailor your ambiguity—
Your true capacity for parsing revelation,
Textures underfoot, but not big from little
The chaff from the grain.

If you’ll pardon me, I’m inside a cardboard box.
Naïvete! Bacchanalia! panta rhei!
He of the loud shout, testicles!—
Read on to conform your blood-curdling joy,
To run screaming through the honeysuckle,
To use a word like “terror.”


Do you have it yet?
This bar ate that Greek.
That Turk, with his hands clenched.
For the sake of argument, let’s pretend
I was killed by a hunting rifle seventeen times.

Bridged the gap with the body;
Bridged the bridges with more bridges.
Let’s pretend this bar is a bathtub
And we’re all going down in flames.
It’s reassuring to be together in a time like this.


At least we have our horn of plenty
Shrouded in antiquity,
A properly executed soldier
Murdered by animal husbandry
Grandiosity always in flux:

This is all true.
Every time I count to infinity
My patriotism knows no bounds.
Every time my family eats a guinea pig
I feel compelled to tell my own personal story.
Every time I lose the ability to speak
I think of you in that tiny black dress, and your adage
Of questionable authenticity. It went:

“Lo, observe, mixed pies! I’m inclined to recall the travels
of your middle eyes and say, Alleluja!”


Laws of position are futile against
Sweeping generalizations—
It is never the same man;
Here is what he hears:

“There is no there-there there.”
No absolute; no co-

Whale contains wine containing many.
Whale contains rough construction.
Whale contains vestigial philosophy,
Malformed feet,
A couch,
Things in their there-ness.

God contains restrictive priming,
Now contains penetration;
Contains many.
God contains the Greek, his hands clenched.
God more real than reminder;
More like this than locale;
More a locus of let go the let go;
Fetch my kindling.

Whale, God, Liberator.
Greek, Turk, Obscure.
Struck down at the zenith
Of their affair.
What to do with all of this plurality?
Their steady weather to part the seas apart,
To parse the chaff and grain.


In dreaming, it’s almost as if what never happened
Will never happen.
During the day, equal dread of living and dying.
I wake to sleep and collaborate in dreaming.
I have searched myself and can sit with confidence
On your carpet; lo, I could recline!
If The Obscure made a mix CD, people might think
He was being aloof.


O, the houses this sight has seen.
O, the scene of this house against that sea.
“The time is the present;
The place is ancient Greece.”
The why is desperation and bending back;
The day is a game and a sieve
Cobbled ashore with small corrections
For the thing itself to crumble through—
A sieve patched with sand.
Everything flows and turns;
Terns rake the sea for whales;
Abiding only with the gale.

In the fake fireplace
It smells like fake fire;
We step in to stoke the damp laundry.
In stealing the mule
The myth is sterile—

[fast/monotone, like a car commercial]: Their processions and their phallic hymns would be disgraceful exhibitions were it not that they are done in honor of Dionysus. But Dionysus, in whose honor they rave and hold revels, is the same as Hades.


And The Obscure was intoxicated, going mad from wine, and The Liberator still around him buoyed toward lifelessness. And with the force from the heavens a great gust rose the sea, and Heraclitus was afraid.

[drunk] “Hey, wake up, you goddamn whale! What—where…” [spill drink] “ahh, shit…my kindling…fuck…”

The Liberator was nearing death from his wounds but was awakened with the heaving ocean and The Obscure stumbling about.

“Your…ritual…do your ritual…”

And Dionysus rolled into the swell, his immense ribcage creaking open to make room.

don't know why i did it

a french guy ate an entire cessna. 60-pounder eats strips of pressure-treated cedar swingset. not the same.

read from inside a whale. it was grand. people were affectionate.

chewed a good deal of skin off of my thumb. manifestations of caffeine when there is no tangible agoraphobia.

cat reclines in the sill. lo, i could recline on yr carpet. this is how well i know myself. me & michael ball.


justin edward sirois is to me as holy is to crap

thanks be to justin for naming my affliction; i would argue (if this was an argument) that katamari damacy has the same effect--that is, after i played katamari damacy but one time i began to view the world in terms of which objects could pick up other slightly larger objects were the objects magnetic to my giant alien ball:

also, here is a photograph from approximately june 7, 2001 (i have no idea but that seems right; i remember having a mint julep), at a very exclusive poetry reading where i met justin edward sirois. everyone was very serious. you can't see me, but i would be just to the left. the guy threw a poem at me. it said, "weather is always weather made concrete." but the second "weather" was crossed out and "memory" was written above it. i thought it was very funny that such a very serious person would make such a very obvious mistake with their poem object. on the other side of the paper there were m- and v-shaped bird drawings. thus began the venture of beautiful objective art that has brought me to blog with you here.


it's not easy to be me

think i accidentally agreed to go on a date (or possibly even marry?) with uzoma, who i believed to be my lone nigerian friend in A&P class. let's call him the lone nigerian. i guess it was totally hott when i got into an argument with my professor about the linguistics of his practice quiz in front of 50 people, wearing my summer garment. let's call it an overall jumper, because that's what it is, for christ's sake, godammit.

the blogging will likely remain sparse as i delve deeper into our bodies. i don't even play tetris before bed anymore. this is all true. every time i count to infinity i run out of feng shui.


60-ft snake in the hose aisle

this is what i mean about summertime martyrdom. six hours over a 450-degree stone and then off to the horrific public pool with the 62-pounder. there are four horrific pools within the horrific public pool. huge minivan striation. if it were the early 90s there would be a lot of coed naked i'm-just-not-that-into-you-anymore shirts.

i turned on the Window Unit.

i repaired my clothes rack.

i bought ice cream from royal farms as the lightning lit the cemetery across the street from my house. there is nothing scary about that particular cemetery, but the zodiac restaurant is a completely different story.

sandlestrap pushbutton
open open
who knew
that place was
and then a poodle
where there shouldn't

happy impediment
small fry county
horrific jog
about the honeysuckle
excuse my weather
my other jacket

what? that's stupid. this whole thing.


addendum: "full service avail upon request"

well. i am housesitting in baltimore's version of the country. pikesville. for my friends. their yard is the kind of yard that i remember in that dreamlike kind of way; not a particular yard but a kind. damp, shady, old, fragrant. like something quiet and victorian; the grandness is not grand. there are two dogs, henry and jessie. henry goes down the steps like a walrus and likes to force himself through my legs so that i'm sitting backwards on top of his back. then he starts walking and i'm riding backwards a ginormous yellow lab. jessie is a horribly ugly terrier type thing; they shave her like a lion and her underbite is such that she first scoops her food out of her bowl with her bottom jaw and then sticks her tongue out of the side of her mouth to vaccuum it up off the floor.

i ate one of their (my friends') frozen macaroni dinners. i feel horrible about it. they didn't specify whether it was okay.

microbiology. it's really not that big a deal.

rocks change.

i could squeeze all of you up and
make you invisible
but what's it, matter?
my mind (isn't).

i would open you like a bible
but i would read you like
the weekly world news

threads doing threading
and a part, they go,
feed we

(like a log)

they go


now i'm going to go watch the cable. i might wake up tomorrow and run around the beautiful neighborhood like i did today, but my body felt like it was put together all wrong, so maybe i'll just ride henry around the patio and water the geraniums.

in the dream, the dog is in the wheat not unlike something else



actually contact paper is not that bad when it smells like vinyl.

and then the rains came, and there were garden tools, and the tools will likely rust. and the sister spoke, "goddammit, god, goddammit," and it was not good.

all this plurality is making me many. go forth and prime.


$6.00 girls wash, tips optional

that is a sign on my way home from school in dundalk, MD. best place in america according to the t-shirt i just used to clean out my dusty dresser.


maureen = dramatic reading by which 'drama' = true character development through performance of text which i assume is actually very serious in parts, but being funny reduces embarrassment factor for reader & audience. condensation of middle english text into 100 words A M A Z I N G. sloshed emo swashbuckler also amazing. "reach around the jib."

ryan = hysterical profundity; little drunk by then (me); mike armi folded abraham lincoln such that abe's bottom lip became deliverance. mike armi and i made out on the dance floor at NYE tax lo years ago. i remember a homeless man in the corner. red velvet pants (me). ryan obtained permission to laugh at his own poems and laugh he did. when i got home there were two or three serendipitous things to do with text from throughout the night but as mentioned i was drunkerly and promptly forgot what they were.


i hate contact paper but i love edging walls for painting. also really into filling out forms/bubbles. really got off on SATs for that reason. i knew a girl who literally got off during test taking--had to do with anxiety and tension. she didn't look forward to it. pavlovian-O.


the anatomy man says if your bones were made of skin, you couldn't stand up. textbook $209.00. he wishes he could peel my abdomen back so i could see my intestines squishing around in serous fluid. coming up: dissection of cow eyeball, sheep brain.


bunch of
stupid crap

if your eyes
were made
of fingernails
you wouldn't
be able
to see

and that old
wive's tale?

it's always
this way



i had me at how you doin girl

here i am, at 2:49am, fully sober, introducing cats to other cats (literal). wounds are either healing nicely or horribly infected, i can't tell. spider bit me on the foot. bodies are so lamé.

i didn't make this/these but i wish i had