Winslow got into a fight with some poison ivy. The poison ivy won.

99 bottles of fear on the wall, 99 bottles of fear, take one down and pass it around, 100 bottles of fear on the wall. 

Don’t mind me, folks. Just having an existential crisis.

Feeling trapped? Angry at the world? Done with everyone’s bullshit? Then come on down to ScreamFest, where the only limits are your lung capacity!

The breakup was inevitable. When you get up every day with fond hopes but are met with nothing but passivity—when you continually think and dream about the object of your affection and concern but there is no reciprocity — it’s only natural to finally give up.