Tricked into nude photographs of the self by a granular sense of escapism for generations, stare too long into the skull’s heart-shaped eyes, and become a short-lived meme. Dye your hair blond halfway down, coughing up the funk with a fist in the air, tired of the same blatant use of sub-par indigenous ballads.
Ready to make a splash? You, too, can turn into a commodity if you grab the bull’s testicles like your life depends on it. Go ahead, bump fists with your seemingly seedy sidekick and accept his ton of bricks. Throw the blistered dice in the cage—lucky shot, you just won a round trip to the iciest summit during the coldest summer.
Adorned with a silly hat, strolling down the red carpet to a blind date with venison you’ve never met. Think of all the good lemonade you’ve had, the holes you’ve punched in the sky, the velvet gloves smeared with an old friend’s elbow grease stroking your thigh. Deemed adequate for recycling after an impartial separation of the good, the bad, and the ugly—taking life for a spin. Who do you bring with you?