I was a penguin. I was waiting in line at the Harold Washington library in Chicago to get an autograph from Neal Stephenson. I had to keep looking over my shoulder, because there were wanted posters up everywhere with my penguin face on them, because I was being hunted for a crime I didn’t commit.
I was a penguin. I was waiting in line at the Harold Washington library in Chicago to get an autograph from Neal Stephenson. I had to keep looking over my shoulder, because there were wanted posters up everywhere with my penguin face on them, because I was being hunted for a crime I didn’t commit.
Had you been watching Wallace & Gromit?
I wish my weird dreams where whimsical instead of deeply upsetting