Stealing is wrong. This I know. But sometimes we take things that do not belong to us. These items are then cooked in mischief and wrapped in a secret. Sometimes, they become our most prized possessions.
The blog I Stole This From You is a catalog of these bits of wrong-doing. Accompanied with beautiful hand-drawn images and submitted anonymously, these tales knit together to create a society where old photos are stolen from ex-boyfriends and a pair of bowling shoes mysteriously winds up in your closet. These confessions are peppered with guilt and bliss and something beautiful that I can’t quite put my finger on.
And so, feeling inspired, I decided to share a swiped object of my own. I didn’t steal it, per se, but when I spotted this photo of my grandparents in an album, I knew I had to make it my own. My grandmother, Josephine Amitrano, and grandfather, Vincent Caporimo, stand beneath a pier in Brooklyn’s Coney Island, a stone’s throw away from where they met when they were 9 and 10 years old and started dating. Although they’ve both passed away, I still see these smiles when I think of them. The print has only been in my possession for a few months, but I already feel like I couldn’t live without it. If my apartment went up in flames, it would be the first item I’d take.
Just found the worst page in the entire dictionary. What I saw was disgraceful, disgusting, dishonest, and disingenuous.
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My cat just walked up to the paper shredder and said, “Teach me everything you know.”
“Just because you can’t dance doesn’t mean you shouldn’t dance.” —Alcohol
@yoyoha (Josh Hara)
My parents didn’t want to move to Florida, but they turned 60 and that’s the law.
Q: What do you call an Amish guy with his hand in a horse’s mouth?
A: A mechanic.