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WELL GUESS THEY CAUGHT ME. GREAT JOB. BECAUSE I PUT MY BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS. OH GOD SO MANY FUCKING TEARS INTO THIS DRINK.
These here are magic coins that live inside yer lightning box, protected by some new-fangled doohickey called a “blockchain.”
Sure, you could drive to pick up some $20 mix of ingredients haphazardly thrown into a flimsy bowl by a hungover college sophomore.
We cigarettes just taste better abroad. The exact science is unclear, but it’s probably because we’re free of toxic ingredients like judgmental looks from your friends.
After what happened last summer, I will not run after the Freddy’s Frozen Freaks ice cream truck.
Do you want to ignite a painful audit of your soul and psyche where you question every decision in your life that led to this moment?
But first I would like to know, oh rugged manchild, how sharing my arch on your “internet” sakes the human purpose.
Your Majesty, what I’m saying is that I am a worrier---all I do all day long is worry about every little thing that could possibly go wrong.
These are the party animals who travel cross-country to see every footnote in person.
It’s O.K, everybody has a different definition of success! Yours just seems remarkably close to failure.
How do you respond to claims that your true identity is Speaker Guy and your do-good speaker smashing is a ruse to crank up speaker demand?
Focus, Bob. Just you and the ball. Crap. Fore!