"blender" poems
son spreads knee blood into ******* &/or
sidewalk chalk.
mixes reds to pinks with head cracking asphalt.
of god & country.
of soggy bread in a lunch-bag; snackpack readied.
he skates.
the concussed ****** of booming youth.
omega he:
to the wolf pack outers.
breathing love of summer, he
is the son drunk on hi-c
& burping.
watching teenaged supersoakers yodel
on a bridge.
florida.
son sneaks out late to rationalize
the city’s features
under strange light & love of nightly people.
boy sculpts body out of beast,
turned dark corners.
arrives swollen.
his father erects a roofed flattop in the backyard slab
with flood light electronics taught to worship
the shred.
mother rattles the blender
on the kitchen outskirts, ***** breathed
& nearing with hugs.
blister-itched.
glossed folds of scar tissue.
those days on summer-beyond when the neighborhood pulsates.
with satellite dishes tuneforking high-frequency vibrations
from outerspace & pigeons explode.
son’s ears bleed, &
the television goes unwatched.
he snaps plank & ankle protein, refurbishing
his legs into iron-rods
or wands of summer anthem.
cold war.
he empties sugar-sweat & toxins
into the storm-drain.
essence of wet heat, skin pinched, & friend
of ghosts.
a three legged dog lay in the shade
leisurely watching the boy skate
on endless.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
*‘Twas the night before surgery,
and all through the house,
no one was stirring,
not even my spouse.
Suddenly I awoke with
such a terrible fright
“Oh, my! It’s 11:45,
and I must eat before midnight!”
So I ran for the kitchen
with nay a moment to spare,
because I cannot eat after midnight;
No way! I wouldn’t dare!
There I stood in the
middle of the room,
staring at the fridge
wondering what to consume.
Then it hit me;
“I know what to make!”
It’s fast and it’s tasty,
a BIG chocolate milkshake!
But when I turned on the blender
it made such a loud noise,
that it woke up my husband,
and it woke up our boys.
So they came in and stared at me,
much to my demise
They all looked so bewildered
as they rubbed their sleepy eyes.
Then they saw the blender
and realized what was there,
“You all might as well go back to bed,
‘cause I’m not about to share!”
I poured it into a very large glass;
I filled it to the top.
Then I drank until it was gone,
& I felt like I could pop.
One by one, the hours crept by,
as I laid awake counting sheep.
That stupid milkshake made my stomach ache,
and I couldn’t go back to sleep!
‘Twas the night before surgery,
and there in my house;
they all slept soundly,
including my spouse.*
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 1:48 PM UTC
Come put your lips
near my lips.
We don't need the
Candy-Sweet-Candlelight, the
Special-Slinky-Things, the
Smooth Hum of Midnight Jazz.
**** it.
We'll make-out to the sound
of a blender or a lawnmower,
Or a pack of feral cats.
Wearing what
we wore to work
And smelling of nothing more than mediocrity.
Just come put your lips near my lips.
It will be perfect.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
When I was eight I got very sick.
I got to eat mac n cheese on the couch,
and drink chocolate chip milkshakes.
Today I felt sick.
So I made some mac n cheese,
and I sat down on the couch.
I wanted the milkshake.
I didn't have any chocolate chip ice cream,
So I made strawberry.
Then I sat at the counter and looked at my mess.
The milk was out,
The ice cream was uncovered and melting
The blender was on its side.
It looked very sad.
Like it was a Roman village I had just conquered.
I killed all the strawberry milkshake children.
They had such bright futures until they drowned
In a puddle of one percent milk.
I discovered I don't like strawberry milkshakes that much.
And now I have a mess in the kitchen,
My car needs gas,
And I smell like cigarettes and self deprivation.
And everything is easier when you're eight and your mother cooks you your special sick person dinner.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 2:12 PM UTC
Happens every other day
Feelings of guilt as a wasteful being
Rearrange brain function
Monopolizing firing synapses
Recycle, reuse
Regurgitating, dull whitted infomercials
All wanting you to buy, buy, buy
Sure you could use another sharp knife
Maybe even a blender
On special now buy one get one free
A kitchen already full of utensils that you don't use
Caught up in McMonsantoland's corporate sponsorship
Frankenburgers all around
Cancer is the cure
Picking you off one by one
Genocide
Intelligence retardant children growing up in front of CIA bugged televisions
They know your patterns, habits, what makes you tick
Big Brother is watching all of you be enslaved
In the end your box will be numbered
Eight humans deep
Stacked high along the streets of America
Guiding the way to the ****** sunset of our existence
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 8:02 PM UTC
There
is.... a knarnley creature
resting, waiting, seeking
the pounce.
A lifetime of gold awaits thy
asleeps but under her blanket
restful slumber
Hark!
Oh the bells
the bells as they are ringing
in the steeple in the courtyard
She awakens
The knarley creature
aint feelin dat 10 a.m
fridgeworthy
solid
solidness
blender
of feelings
being mashed
mixer of emotions
like a mixed drink
at uptown
maybe a gin and tonic
idk...
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
I promise not to promise anything again
But ladies gotta SAY NO MORE! I said it, men!
The ***** monologues, we’ve had it up to here
Your ***** in aura, ***** mouth, and every ear
We call ghost busters, catch that ***** demon yet
Go ********** yourself to sleep, don’t make me wet
You tell that boy that it’s a girl. Shake hands! Acknowledge!
And take that girl to college get some ******* knowledge
When vida gives you women go make lemonade
Fresh out of momma’s blender tastes like toil n jade
They do it for the ***** do it for the coins
Kom alla kvinnor! Power of the burning *****
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
a bottle of scotch had bad dreams.
bullets twitch, junk sick
in 3 inch thick
mustard ****
toe nails clipped from yeti
lay strewn about the **** stained corpse
of a motel six dixie cup -
root canal trophy,
next to
a black fez
with scab tassel
upended.
down in it. belching apnea
propaganda
and belladonna
waiting for curious george
to find a shotgun
and a yellow
hat
and a brick banana.
blowflies inhale the rank damp
of a fresh ****
the odd dog whines
like a clown in -
a blender.
[ the ]
house wins
with a marked card; jabbing fat fingers
into acned rosacea
bloated with sleep lack
and mortgage
back stab
chasing twenty ******
with a hollow point
pull from an acid
flask
while hailing a black cab.
tinsel sutures
stitch eyelids as a mercy
shattered bone knit
hand-grenade
cozies
old glory, at half mast
half wasted
fifty stars, no light
dragging on
the grounds of immunity
to do a line
of coke stock
with a basset hounds'
finesse.
your taxes at work
in columbia,
hiding from a lost farm
in Idaho
your american dream
turning tricks in shanghai
for a counterfeit
egga roll
your meme, devoid
like an ice cube
tombstone
your freedom, parking cars
for italian escorts
smoking skin flutes
for ferraris
and white teeth.
your integrity, sold to a hedge fund
for astroglide and a pez dispenser
packed with prozac
pressed by ' Jose the butcher' s abuela
in a narco slum
that ain't seen radio
since cinder blocks
had wings.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 2:40 PM UTC
I sleep in a garage.
ten giant tricycles
standing on their backs
sleep next to me.
my bathroom is at sears.
or McDonalds.
or winn-dixie.
male prostitutes post shop
on the street corners
around here
******* ****
for money
for crack"
as one such fellow
put it to a cop.
there's a blender
and a microwave
and plenty of bottles of ***
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 5:27 AM UTC
Living in this yellow box filled with aging trinkets
A lonely guy trying to get by just hasn't sealed the link yet
Bout a cup of milk left in the fridge and God forbid I drink it
A shaggy dog; that ***** hog, why can't they smell the stink yet?
The junk comes barreling through the door so fast that you can blink it
There's no more room for gloom and doom, but let's fit one more inkjet
They just got rid of dinnerware, a silver and a pink set
So now to hoard an ancient sword, a blender and a mink set
Five garbage bags of someone's clothes, the sixth one's in the sink, wet
With lots of cans and pots and pans, we'll reach the jagged brink yet
They're trying to let go, said there ain't no space to think yet
They're workin hard to raise the bar, ain't worked out all the kinks yet
Pressed for time and low on space
****** I need to get out of this place...
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
Lying beneath the stars longing to feel your honest heart beet.
Returning to the dirt we came from, I can feel your breath hot and sticky filling the gap between us.
Scrupulously steaming us vegetables.
I can't help but imagine biting into your savory peel.
Some say the skin is the most nutritious part.
I inhale the ripe droplets dewing across you,
and wonder what we'd look like mashed together.
Stuck in a blender.
Ripped apart and delicately reassembled.
And then I remember,
That we already were.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
ghosts of slumber parties past.
just a haunted betamax & a stack of oreo sandwiches.
sisters braiding eachother’s hair far past the witching hour,
contemplating life without supervision.
blue house. yellow lawn.
silverback gorilla in one garage.
two garage: empty.
three garage: a woman entombed in exhaust.
[her bloated tongue]
a gang of bmx boys pizza-fed and friday-high,
hopped up on mountain dew and trading card collectible rituals ‘n rhythmics.
they conjure a demon just to **** and dismember it.
for funsies.
for keepsies.
a fang for the shrine at the foot of the old oak tree.
history on the skin, long history, long thoughts, long in the nod like a calm dead frog.
bubbled, boiled, toiled, and troubled.
the woods aren’t haunted.
you are haunted.
you are the conduit through which the darkness displays its vivid colors.
[treefort aflame]
the seasons furrow/
/ the leaves fall.
little plots of land etched out – subdivision and sprawl.
on the avenue, heaven
& hell made tame and tangible.
built, re-built, and refurbished – a lawn and a lantern.
a mortgaged glory of sparkle and decay.
[dead cat is a new cat is the old cat ran away]
pictograms of morning light display on mom’s face
as she instructs us on the gusts of love [scrambed eggs]
& teaches us the truth of nettles sprung
from violent pine.
[toast with raspberry jam]
the television.
the microwave.
the blender beverages.
hymnals of an electric kingdom.
one mom dances, the other expires.
[restless armless girls in orange sunsets]
girl with a gun at the edge of her lawn and selling lemonade.
girl in an old wicker chair.
save her horror story for another day.
boy with a bent frame bicycle limps his way home
from one end of the avenue to the other.
his pockets full of sparkly rocks found in the lime quarry pit.
one boy in a long line of lost planets.
the driveway.
the refrigerator.
the hum of a saturday night commercial-free cassette.
where’s dad?
the glow of an eerie crystal
(continued…)
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
I see you
Sweet like candy
But definitely a handful
I don’t want to do anything to you
I don’t want to do anything for you
I would love to experience with you
So the fave color is red
There is beauty behind your eyes – in your head
Brains built of action from your hands and happening in front of your eyes
What a surprise when you spoke to me
Simple yet impressive and something I did not see coming
Love is where you find it
Hot – sour – bitter – slightly messy
Unconditional from the crown at the top of the head to bottom of the feet
Now what ?
I don’t want to do anything to you
I don’t want to do anything for you
I would love to experience with you
Think of making love in a chair
For this to work
Both of us have to be willing and somewhat fair
Are you really sure you want unconditional ?
Can you actually accept my faults and failings ?
I have never been to prison
I believe in feelings
I am an old man with ideas, designs and thoughts in a battle with the Universe
I know how to trust you
Can you hold the word commit when the sky falls ?
I will never let you fall
I promise I’ll never make you cry
When you get scared
I’ll hold you tighter
You do not have to ask
I am your fighter
I would never question the Creator
The thief of air has taken love from me
Several times
Was my heart being prepared for you ?
Now what ?
Can you accept my creative mess process ?
Can you see the fun in how I get things done ?
Are you willing and ready for the ride of a lifetime ?
If your answer leans toward yes, double buckle – it going to be bumpy – but fun
Our daughter will be divine
Will you balk when I beg you to try for a son ?
Your effect on another male can change the world and all humankind
Spirit guides my life now
I can’t explain it
I know it when I see it
Here are my jealousies
Are you willing to grant me your T E A ?
Time – Energy – Attention
Let’s lock this energy in place
I am willing to do – not try – do
Bring me you
I am better than I used to be
Not as good as I will be
Can you love a person like me ?
I do not want your day
I do not want your night
I am a person of commitment
I want your lifetime
I will cherish those days you are mad at me
I will cherish those days you don’t understand me
No matter how sweet
I promise to never cheat
If I have to crawl thru broken glass
I always come home
Can your comfort zone let me share ?
Right or wrong
Will you be there ?
Some things I do very strong
Others start with tender
Madness is not something I accept
Yet, know that I stand
And put all of life in a blender
Here is the warning – the caveat :
Are you a moth or a flame ?
Feet on the ground
Living
The possibilities are all blue sky
Tender ********** makes Angels cry
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 1:00 PM UTC
Grime-caked fingers digging into
An infant’s innocent eye sockets
The chubby little **** shouldn’t be wearing that locket
No tears run their course down its soft, pink epidermis
But one could bottle up
The slightly thinning blood
Into a small
Thermos
I told that **** to get an abortion
My ******* ***** deserves better than her
I can’t stand the scent of baby lotion
I’ll go fishing with its flesh as lure
‘Cause I’m pro-choice
Yeah, I’m pro-choice
‘Cause I’m pro-choice
Yeah, I’m pro-choice
The wailing, ****** howl dies down
When the child’s trachea is crushed
By some hand-me-down, rusted hammer
That turns its body to mush
One could still see the baby’s frozen face
Open-mouthed and purple-blue
Spinning around the unwashed blender
With the previous night’s food
I told you to get a simple abortion
My ******* ***** deserves better than you
You better coat your putrid *** in baby lotion
And have some mouthwash ready, too
‘Cause I’m pro-choice
Yeah, I’m pro-choice
‘Cause I’m pro-choice
Yeah, I’m pro-choice
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 8:48 PM UTC
I'm nervous.
Like really nervous.
Like shaking like a blender full of gravel nervous.
Like atheist in a foxhole nervous.
Why am I so nervous?
Because I have a nagging thought that soon I might just be the last-next-best-thing that ever happened to you,
Replaced by another, better next-best-thing that blows me out of the water.
Because you might decide I don't have what you really REALLY want.
Because at the end of the day, I'm still convinced that your attraction to me is the product of an elaborate facade.
So yeah. I'm nervous.
Like sweating fifty caliber bullets nervous.
Like ******** cinderblocks nervous.
Like chattering teeth cold sweats nervous.
Like dying young nervous.
Like being forgotten nervous.
And it makes me nervous that you put me on a pedestal
Because from where I stand, I didn't do anything to deserve this
I got drunk at a party and picked up a guitar and here we are almost a year later.
So I'm anxious
I'm distressed
I'm worried and jumpy
But most of all I'm nervous
Nervous because I think
You might one day figure out what I already know:
I'm not that great.
I'm lanky and goofy and kinda dumb sometimes
And I can be just as petty as everyone else
And I'm still pretty convinced you're colossally out of my league
So I'm nervous
Like shake-you-to-your-fucking-core nervous
Like really nervous.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:19 AM UTC
THIS is what love is.
banana bubblegum and magnetic poetry
the crickets on my front porch at three in the morning
making origami cranes out of butcher paper
even when I forget whether it's mountain fold or
valley fold and my crane turns out looking like a
seamonkey in a blender
wildflowers!
striped button-down shirts and plastic dinosaurs
singing Juanes at the top of our lungs
(Gah, you know
I can't speak Spanish.)
laughing at the serious parts in movies
having the patience for when
the words don't come out
and I have to stop
and think
(for a very long time)
and half the time it doesn't make sense anyway.
impromptu dance sessions on the side of the road
doors flung open, radio up
chocolate chip pancakes
out-of-town adventures
mailboxes. LOTS.
balcony raves with lots of glowsticks
and let me borrow that top!
just letting me sleeeeeeep
the smell of new pointe shoes
of New Orleans
of bluebonnets
telling me when I look awful (please)
making me eat things that I don't like
SNUGGLEBUNNY TIME
drive-thru people who hate our guts
That's What She Said's.
praising Buddha naked
dysfunctional kites
paying in change at Chicken Express
late night phone conversations
when I sound drunk
(but I'm not,
I'm tired. I just would rather
talk to you
than sleep.)
silence.
cupcakes, uniform closets
not shaving our legs in the winter
shadow puppets, rap songs,
Slumdog Millionaire
making once-in-a-lifetime faces
looks that speak oceans
pecan pralines and symphony orchestras you'll
never play with again but for that night
you're family
and you'll never forget it.
matches (aren't always for candles)
thousands upon thousands of candids
and the not-so-candids
saving kisses in your pocket for later
Neverland, Disneyland, cats
yellow dresses and stage make-up
watermelon Jolly Ranchers
saying my name like it's wrapped in blankets
and knowing that
even though I don't say it
as much as I should:
I do.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 1:51 PM UTC
I.
I am the eye that floats on the wind.
The third observer
To your first person nonsense.
I see all and say nothing.
I am all and nothing.
Simultaneously the end and the beginning.
I hold your world together
With a steady stare.
If I blink you become a blur--
A quantum hurricane
In the blender of nonexistence.
II.
Or maybe
Somewhere in the multiverse
A version of me
Is drinking tea by a fireplace.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 11:23 PM UTC
ingredients | serves: 1
three nights spent in a haze wrapped around each other before the fog lifted and clarity chased the glow away
five soft smiles that were lost in the limbo between want and need
two hundred and eighty four barely-there, feather-light caresses, stolen while they were asleep
two sets of heartbeats in sync with each other
one hundred and twelve sweet nothings whispered under the safety net of darkness
one song sung to you as they nursed you back to health, already stripped and chopped
four cups of air you’ve breathed into each other
seventy two fleeting moments in which you looked up at their face and you felt your stomach churn
four tablespoons of the sweat that dripped from your bodies and seeped into the sheets that first night you touched
two willing bodies
one heart
directions | preparation: 8 months
step one
gather one of the two bodies and prop it up against the wooden chair.
step two
grab the remaining body and lean it against the doorway.
step three
don’t say anything. don’t break the spell. don’t ruin the recipe. you only have one chance at this.
step four
set the temperature to slow burn for three weeks and let it simmer.
step five
once you feel the fire in your veins hot enough to melt glass, the burning in your fingers strong enough to leave a mark, and the bubble in your throat threatening to burst, imagine yourself in a block of ice and swallow up the words that try to slip past your lips. i love you. note: do not let them out.
step six
finely crush the seventy two moments where your stomach had a mind of its own. do not let it show. you can’t afford to waste those moments.
step seven
mix in the the barely-there caresses and for each lost smile, stir for an additional week, because that’s how long you’ll be thinking of them before you even realise how much space they’ve taken up inside your mind.
step eight
pour the cups of the air you’ve shared into a blender for three nights, then mix in the sweat, and place in the fridge to chill. never let them thaw. do not hurt yourself by reminiscing.
step nine
place the heart in your hands and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until the blood spills onto the broken chopping board that is your rib cage and then throw it away. an empty heart serves no purpose.
step ten
say your prayers and hope for the best.
you wanted a love potion, didn’t you?
you’re in luck, this will only cost your soul.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 5:48 AM UTC
In gravest, gravels of untouched soil,
Spearhead of purple, beyond the pale,
One statue of siege upon a windy foil,
What mires meek airs in all you survey?
Like a frost of summers, you are lord,
To hold that seed in your spiny face,
Depressions of land your promontory,
All up with arms, iron clad as a mace,
Beneath you, the grown motley fields
Are desolate, all flowers bled, blender,
Spiders and birds know you unyielding
The lost aleatory scent of no surrender.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
Work is boring, I'd
Rather be home sleeping in
A nice comfy bed
Work is boring, I'd
Rather be smoking a joint
And watching TV
Work is boring, I'd
Rather be drinking a beer
And drunk barroom brawls
Work is boring, I'd
Rather be out surfing the
Gnarly ocean waves
Work is boring, I'd
Rather stick my arm in a
Blender; cause some fun
Work is boring, I'd
Rather be out banging some
Coked up prostitutes
Work is boring, I'd
Rather dig my brain out thru my
My ears with a fork
Work is boring, you
Can tell because I'm writing
Too many haikus
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 8:43 AM UTC
If I could rip my heart out I would've done it already
Put it in the blender and make it look like mushed spaghetti
Then throw it in the air like if it was confetti
Then walk out the house and say I'm ready
To live a life with no pain
No more love games
After all that nothing would ever be the same
I'd be heartless, careless
No more stressing out till I'm hairless
No more hoping that life was filled with fairness
I'd have life held by its reins
completely tamed
And there would be no one that could drive me insane
Playing life like a game
Perfectly passing everything, put the high score next to my name
I'd be as hot as the devil
But instead I'm stuck here in the same level
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC
The cop asked me for my license to which
I replied what the hell is that.
Officer Tillman I belive i met your wife in a restroom
down at the laundrymat.
She didnt do ya justice.
Cause you arent all that ugly
but you are kinda fat.
No my last name isnt Knoxville but I
sure had some fun in Tennessee.
Met darlin that left a burnin feelin behind just for me.
My life is like a tweenty four hour cartoon.
A wreckless wonder.
If ya wanna ride along theres always room.
Gotta babydoll I often reffer to as Tinker.
She's my favorite semi insane funsize drinker.
Got a amigo or two.
Some fake ID's cause some people just happen to be looking
for me.
I thought you already knew.
Some people like to hate.
Clive. Forrest. Ian.
Dont be jelouse your still living togather in the same basement
no hope ever having none inflatable
date.
Iv'e taken some pretty hard licks.
Put my mind in a blender .
Now all im left with is becon bits.
Im the Jackass of poetry alone I hold the crown.
Some might call me a village idoit.
But I would say im most fun fella in town.
And if ya read this work and still cant see.
You can go to hell.
And thats one thing apon me my imaginary friends
and my little badass tinker agree.
Oct 18, 2009
Oct 18, 2009 at 11:55 AM UTC
For any time the urge to wring
an autumn gourd, this one's the thing
Smashing pumpkins, not so nice
but Butternut Squash, an honest vice
Long and beige, hard and smooth
you'd never guess it's power to sooth
that underneath the toughest skin
is meat like pumpkin, seeds within
A steamy bisque for autumn's chill,
peel and chop them as you will
Dump them into four cups broth*
add apple, pear, or applesauce
a cup or two will do just fine
and while you stand there, have some wine!
sautee onions, a cup and a half
dump them in and cry or laugh
and now to add your seasoning stuff
cumin, curry, nutmeg, Fluff
hold the Fluff, that ain't the truth
best to pull that old sweet tooth
Bisque is savory, better than sweet
warms the cockles, heart to feet
save your sweets for pumpkin pie
the after-apple of your eye
Back to seasonings, see above
a quarter teaspoon, more with love
I add pepper and take a gander
some folks call for coriander
heat the whole thing to a boil
for me, my crock pot's always loyal
crock at high, about four hours
or low for six, and bring some flowers!
And now I'll play a little game
change my words to mean the same
if cook is butter and ****** is squash
then butter dat ****** and ****** dat gnosh
when you're hungry, under the wudder
ain't nuttin' better 'en butternut chudder
add some cream and squash your mash
mash your squash and whip your pash
I used a blender to make it creamy
cooked it down, so thick and steamy
add some butter, parsley's fine
butternut bisque with bread and wine!
Ahhhh!!!!!
*chicken broth
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
I'm overwhelmed
With the sky and the trees and my house and my family.
But on top of all that I'm overwhelmed inside myself.
I don't know if you can grasp that.
Its similar to having a blender going on in your head all the time.
I can't think straight.
I can't eat.
I can't sleep.
My mom thinks I'm sick.
I'm actually just overwhelmed.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 3:26 PM UTC