Oh holy shit, the indie rock sex lyrics contest. Best ever.
Hottt Eames lounge chair ink.
Dedicated readers of Wrestling Entropy know all about my fear of and perverse fascination with the ocean, so with that in mind, I say to you, with all the bone-shattering terror I can muster: are they fucking kidding us with this newly discovered furry lobster shit? Horrifying. And yet quite cool. (Thanks, JP.)