Weekend plans.
The remains of Vladimir Komorov, sent into space on a doomed mission to satisfy a whim of Brezhnev’s. He knew that his capsule would break apart and fail on reentry, but if he pulled out of the mission, it would be his dearest friend, Yuri Gagarin, who would take his place. The mediocre must dine on the finest flesh.
Metal bands per 100000 people.
Maakies has finally died. Pouring out a Jameson for Drinky Crow, dook dook dook.
“Oh Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to my remembrance from what state
I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere;
Till pride and worse ambition threw me down
Warring in Heaven against Heaven’s matchless King!”
If I murder my uncle I’ve got a decent chance of inheriting his Scrambler. Oh, ethics.
Leonora Carrington, The Unicorns and The Ghost in the Wall
(Source: everythingmeanseverything)