Mr. Browning, if you please.

It's Spring Break and I am not in Cancun.

I am sitting in my room at home, reading Victorian Poetry for my Later British Literature class, and listen, ROBERT BROWNING ROCKS MY WORLD. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Except in space, or riding a kangaroo.

But, you know.

"Nay, we'll go

Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,

Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!"

whut?

I dunno, Browning, but to quote a modern day poet Dan Deacon,

I'm in love with sea horses. I'm in love with them, they're so beautiful and cute, I'm in love with seahorses.

They're fucking unreal, I love them. They're like all the clocks. I love them. I love seashores, and I love looking at 'em, and I love seashells. I love seashell things. I love things with seashells and seahorses on 'em.

Like blankets.
And towels.
And little bags.
I love 'em.

Seahorses.
Forever.

We all have something in common.