Taps, spoons, Sweden. Mmmm mums.
Tom told me to start doodling at work, I did and the stupid banana-doodles was born.
I doubt in the actual existence of luck within it’s fibers, but it was what it was. I hope it brings luck to thief who also got a few items of ladies clothes and soiled underpants. Here it is as I remember it, buttoned up with a supply of cigarettes in the top pocket.
Let me tell you the story of Right Hand, Left Hand. It’s a tale of good and evil. Hate: it was with this hand that Cane iced his brother. Love: these five fingers, they go straight to the soul of man. The right hand: the hand of love. The story of life is this: static. One hand is always fighting the other hand, and the left hand is kicking much ass. I mean, it looks like the right hand, Love, is finished. But hold on, stop the presses, the right hand is coming back. Yeah, he got the left hand on the ropes, now, that’s right. Ooh, it’s a devastating right and Hate is hurt, he’s down. Left-Hand Hate KOed by Love.
Check out this fucking Scandinavian love connection
