"The Russians run an underground fighting league in Coney Island where they pay junkies to fight. I fought about fifty fights for them. They pay you $200 win or lose. They’d always make sure I was real doped up before the fight. I mean they weren’t good people but it did make me feel kinda important to have all those gangsters cheering for me. And they’d always be really happy if I won, because that meant I’d made them money."
So do you guys want to get matching “I survived the Polar Vortex 2K14” tattoos when this is all over, or…
best sick-day companion in the world
New Year’s Eve feels like a good enough excuse. If only iPhone cameras could truly capture the splendor of body glitter.
My boss just sent me this: Here’s a cute pic of you from the party : )
Don’t ever leave : (
6 days left and they’re trying to break my heart. I get approximately three frowny face emails a day.