>talking about music to someone I just met
>start talking about my favorite autechre record Incubala
>she giggles at me loudly
>I'm like "what"
>"um anon actually it's called Inculabula"
>what? no that can't be right
>check again
>...
>she laughs louder
>confetti falls from the ceiling
>a nice lady in a pantsuit hands her a check for a billion dollars
>she continues maliciously cackling in my face holding the comically large check
>two huge men in black emerge and wrestle my Hipster of the Year trophy away from me and hand it to her
>they set my indie cred back to zero and whisk me away to Hipster Jail
>mfw
I've been going around calling it Incubala for YEARS

Welp, the foids got another one. I think my brother's black killed on women now. Never heard him be so jaded before. Bummer.

Should I tell my therapist the suicidal thoughts are getting worse? We were already talking about it last week but they were just kind of passive then. I've never been to a psych ward before. Bad idea?

How do you guys deal with having fucked up fetishes?