l’edizione 18. trippin’
bro, this is what happens when skittles overdose and start having existential crises. the drip gods are watching, and they’re not judging—they’re just vibing in their gooey chaos. it’s like the universe hit ctrl+z on reality and said, “let’s make it weird.” you’re the tiny astronaut, lost in a candy-coated fever dream, and every squishy eyeball is lowkey asking, “u good?” spoiler: you’re not, but neither are they.