Being an author is great except for the part where it drives you fucking insane
love for an internet service provider to offer me better internet, sign me up, cancel my old internet on my behalf, and then at the last minute go “oopsie we lied we can’t provide any internet at all 🥺👉🏻👈🏻”
this is how i hoped Black Narcissus (1947) would end but alas
imagining someone in the future dying of lung cancer and their grieving loved ones discover an old video of them participating in something called the "twinks vs dolls cigarette race"