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12:27 A.M. Chug an entire glass of water. Future You will deal with this. 1:06 A.M. The song “Mr. Sandman” is stuck in your head.
Lord Craig, why dost thou keep the queue stagnant? Is it not time to order the execution of the pilgrim who insists he has a reservation number?
Time is not my friend. Bacteria from the splinter is multiplying, as I text. I can feel sepsis is setting in. I only have one, two days tops.
To be frank, this email arrives at a somewhat complicated time professionally. Perhaps you heard I was laid off not too long ago.
I’d appreciate it if you listened to my tips for spear-sharpening without sprinting to Human Resources.
Are you too pale? Yes, you are. We don’t even need to look at you; we can tell by your order history.
Back at the wizard’s tower, I’ve got a small team of young apprentices working on Gen-M and frankly, even we’re surprised by its capability.
Until you are told you otherwise, you are only allowed to use cannabis on weekends.
We were looking for someone who is my sister’s son, invites me to tap recitals, and doesn’t correct me at the Thanksgiving table when I say something racist.
Honestly, this might be a blessing in disguise. He included this whole “Avengers Assemble”-style roll call with the Founding Fathers that is so sick.
Each employee should onboard a child for photos. Be discerning in your selection. Children who look both winsome and unmistakably aligned with our hunger initiative are ideal.
At the hotel, I’m told I cannot pay for my room with Duolingo gems, even after I show them I have over 1,800.