
“Nothing on Earth could come between them.”
NOTHING ON EARTH?! OMG.
AN ICEBERG.
AN ICEBERG GETS IN THEIR WAY.
A GODFORSAKEN ICEBERG.
Valentine’s Day suuuuucks.

“Nothing on Earth could come between them.”
NOTHING ON EARTH?! OMG.
AN ICEBERG.
AN ICEBERG GETS IN THEIR WAY.
A GODFORSAKEN ICEBERG.
Valentine’s Day suuuuucks.

While most of my Saturday nights include sassy winks over highball rims to boys across the bar, mine tonight includes my stupid taxes. And you know what? This guy’s on the other side of Turbo Tax, I’m not even KIDDING.
“No, lady, you lost your tax refund here. Oh, and here.” And all he’s really thinking is, Good luck. Good f’ing luck.
.
Kanye appears on SNL tonight, so I figured that I should make a connection with Bound 2‘s “Brad reputation,” and this Lichtenstein work.
Alright, alright, I’m not really going to make a connection as much as suggest it.

Willard Hill has been making art with found items every day for the past twenty years. The only accomplishment that bears any resemblance to this is how I bring my cereal milk in a mason jar to work every day, so I can eat Special K at my desk. It’s my ritual. And you know what?! I goddamn forgot it this morning.
A.) This card freakin’ rules.
B.) Every other gift suggestion on this BuzzFeed list does too.
C.) I’m amazing. You’re welcome.

This chick and I are on the same page: Just how many seconds are in the 32 hours between me and my weekend?
115,200. Oh dear God.

I’m soon experiencing a similar weekend getaway, but exchange the following:
– a horse-drawn carriage for a first-class airline seat
– a boring fellow for someone quite entertaining
– jolly laughter for those double fingers Beyoncé throws up in “Formation.”
I. Am. Set.

Sometimes art is a ridiculously well-created card. Who needs Christmas?! I want these for every Cezanne…do you get it? Like SEASON, GUYS.

Not included: Lautrec’s scorching case of sphyilis, and Pollock’s mangled car from his drunk-driving accident that killed him in 1956.