Thought.is

Hi Kanye, huge fan here, though not necessarily of your music. I just think you’re fascinating.

Content writing is one of the more soul sucking undertakings a writer can, well, undertake.

First of all, I’d just like to thank you for taking time out your busy schedule to express concern for the fact that I am indeed not wearing a bra. I do appreciate the myriad of ways you broach the tender subject, such as “Sure is cold in here!” or “Bras are soooooo uncomfortable, aren’t they?”

There was a time when I preferred a man in pants so big I could get in there with him. It’s no coincidence that at the same time I wore hemp jewelry and thought 311 were the height of musical innovation.

“Hi, this is Sean from Debt Collection Unlimited, or DCU. While you’re shooting daggers at your boyfriend for handing you the phone even though I asked for you by your full name, which should have been a tip-off that this call was of the nefarious, debt collecting nature, let me tell you how your life will change for the worse from here on out.

The medicine is supposed to control panic attacks, but they still occur with the same frequency, and I’ve only recently — within the past year or so — learned to control them through sheer will and maybe a little bit of maturity. The only thing the pills do now is save me from their withdrawal effects.

I remember watching To Live and Die in LA and just about fainting during a scene offering a full frontal view of William Petersen’s ‘situation’. Who among us hasn’t been at least a little curious about the cut of Gil Grissom’s jib? And there it was in all its glory.

Hi, I’m Stacie and I might need professional help. Sometimes I get really bored and end up writing fake excerpts from fake books written by authors I’m not overly fond of to a hopefully humorous effect.

Berlin is unabashedly sexual. Ads for couples’ sex clubs were all over, porn played free on the hotel television, prostitution is legal and generally not frowned upon. The sex museum was no exception. I was embarrassed for half a second, until it occurred to me that I should probably abandon my puritan mores at the plaster dongs if I wanted to enjoy myself.

My mother was notorious for getting into fights with strangers. It was a constant source of embarrassment as a child. We’d be out somewhere, she’d spy some injustice or slight and find herself incapable of not speaking up, and suddenly security would be rushing over.