Carrie Brownstein is one of the most magical, whimsical, and perfect creatures on our small planet.
Dare I say it...too perfect?
Her entire existance straddles the line between reality and fiction.
Is she a rock star? Is she an actress? Does she even exist?
Her ability to change form and outward appearance seems absolutely unending.
Her musical prowess can destroy hearts...
...and apparently defy the common law of gravity.
Just don't ask the former Sleater-Kinney and Wild Flag musician "What does it feel like to be a woman playing music?"
Carrie doesn't have time for that nonsense.
She's too busy being a complete boss.
Her tweets are both insightful revelations and raw poetry.
Saw the kind of beard that extends solely from the chin in a scraggly, long, curly waterfall and the words "pubic drape" came to mind.
Adult/child confluence perfected: just had wine and cereal for dinner.
Sometimes when I have dry skin, a few pimples, and a hang nail, I think, 'my body is a wonderland.'
The same could be said of her facial expressions.
*this is an insightful revelation*
*this is raw poetry*
She studied sociolinguistics in college, which sounds completely made up.
Her makeout sessions look like rare works of art.
Strange and beautiful art.
Her friendship with Portlandia co-star Fred Armisen is suspiciously perfect.
Seriously, someone make it stop. It's too much.
No mere mortal could sit next to Annie Clark and not instantly crumble into nothingness.
And yet, there she sits.
Her genuine kindness will put any other kindness to utter shame.
How can one person stand to contain such vast wisdom and talent?
Someone must stop her reign of perfection.
IT'S ALL TOO MUCH, CARRIE!
In conclusion, she must be a strange deity from some distant planet.
This is the only logical conclusion for her perfect existence.
