Alright. Hope you’re well. Enjoyed our time together and all that. The food you cooked was nice. Had a good time. Look after yourself, and let me know if you’re around next week. Cheers.
— Karl Pilkington’s letter to himself at the new age cuddle party in Joshua Tree. A flower child of the universe he is not.
according to physics, nothing ever quite touches. when you lay your hand on something, there is a microscopic amount of space between the atoms of your hand and whatever you’re touching. so no, officer, technically i’m not jacking off right now