Letter to the Elusive BrätBus™: Why Do You Hate Our Wonderful Midwestern City?
You’re telling us that our beloved home--a place where many Hagen-Hogan BrätBoy Brats™ have been happily consumed--isn’t worth your time?
You’re telling us that our beloved home--a place where many Hagen-Hogan BrätBoy Brats™ have been happily consumed--isn’t worth your time?
6:45 AM: Wind speed in the air is currently ten miles per hour, which is something only relevant to me.
First, don’t ever call it the Big Apple. That’s embarrassing. The locals call it Nork-Nork. As in, “Welcome to Nork-Nork, dumb-dumb!"
You raised some concerns that a lot of us have zero climbing experience. Just so you know, I watched a bunch of climbing videos.
Don’t worry about the old-timer who whispers “Beware the woods at night!” to you—it’s just his way of welcoming you!
Heaven has several noteworthy attractions. It boasts a decent choir, if you enjoy liturgical music. The library has a good book.
For safety, we’re tying you right to the tip of the rocket—far from the hot hot thrusters. You’ll also get plenty of SPF to protect you.
Nice place. Lovely sheets. Good shampoo. Someone kissed me in the middle of the night.
Dr. Ellis is not worrying about grading papers or summoning a hoard of lizard monsters for Gork the Lizard King.
“Merci,” I respond. “Incroyable,” the driver says, slowly taking off his sunglasses, “You really know your stuff.”
Every other country on the planet is superior to where I am now, probably. I bet they don’t suffer from the problems found in my current location.
The Trust Fund: You wanted to move to Ibiza but needed a job since your father expects you to take over the family business; you settle for Madrid.