rawk heals all wounds

If I were still living in Chicago, I’d be hunting a certain pretty-boy down right now and giving him Halsted’s Trademarked What-For, for hurting my beloved Inkbot’s feelings.

Instead, I live in San Francisco, which meant cheering her up with an impromptu ‘80s rawk mp3 jam last night.

I heart you, ‘Bot! Tonight we shall console ourselves with Outback Jack, who makes most paltry SF men look like the croc-fearing, non-call-returning asshats they are.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.