Meow Wolf Houston

I take every chance I can get to escape the wheels of the capitalist death machine. My phone is constantly telling me someone’s been shot in a mall, or the asshole with the long red tie has done something to make me clutch my humanity pearls, so when an opportunity to melt away into dimensions unknown presents itself, I’m taking it. This past weekend, to celebrate my boys’ birthdays, we took them to Meow Wolf’s Radio Taves experience in Houston, and I’m still thinking about it. I got lunch next to a fucking rat in a blonde wig while a three-titted bar was above my head. This place was madness of the Hunter S. Thompson variety—save the ether binge.