Sometimes you say to yourself: Self. It is snowing on those alpacae. Maybe we should invite them in to warm themselves by our wood stove. And then you say out loud, “Guys! It is snowing on those alpacae! Maybe we should invite them in to warm themselves by our wood stove!” And then you are OUT. VOTED. PS If the plural of Alpaca isn’t Alpacae, I don’t want to hear about it.
High-powered New York designers feed the chickens:
The moment in which we both realize that we have the same haircut:
My childhood memories of Monopoly involved being bored, not being terrorized with constant reminders of how crushing, awful, and unpredictable the world is. Note to the wise: Monopoly is for the very young, or the very rich. Not for a pack of freelance artists. (Not even avec Carignan.)