That's nice man. Really happy for you.
omfg lol, you are the fuggin' wurst, but then again, that's only in Italy. Anywhere else except Germany, I'm the wurst. It's in the regulations. I don't know what you are in Germany, but if you find out that it's something involving the meeting of rubber and glue, for God's sake, don't quit huffing the glue until you've picked the right week to stop wearing rubbers.
Much better, is it not?
Let's not get ahead of our elves. Rocky says there might be a lot more chances for them to attain the Final Glory they crave. And if I don't get this treaty on lockdown before.. aaand, it's done. Cool. Now where was I? Oh yeah, that elf. She was terrified.
I guess she had screwed up her courage to even walk into the room? Like, there's a food_slot, chambermaid, why don't you use that if you're gonna act obsequious while offering me poison, and then I realized that maybe she was afraid she was gonna break MY bone, and I looked up and made eye contact and thought, "wow, she's scared because she has no choice... and now wishes she had."
So, I'm uncertain which word I wanna start proofreading next. I'm gonna go with changing chambermaid to whore, because for one thing, she wasn't either--that was a goddam workshop elf, and I know what I am talking about, not because I'm a Divinely Ordained (And Sometimes Activated And Authorized) Being... naw, I just kinda know Santa's type. Also, I got the distinct impression that I could hear her thinking the worlds, "please don't let him find out I'm an elf please don't let him find out I'm an elf i need to be a good elf next year I need to be a good elf next year," which, look, any way you slice it, is a goddam suspiciously precise hallucination for a man incarcerated unjustly after being abducted at gunpoint by a thuggy piggy gang lead by a woman who had lied at every-single-swing-state-crux-moment, since I had very first met her. So, yeah, could be a coincidence. Probably not. And you know, pointy ears and red/white striped socks. Come on, people. These "coincidences" are nothing of the kind. Do I have to draw you a picture? Well, I can't--I don't want to make it easy for anyone to accuse me of masterminding a plot to trade the tampered jury's foreman to a guy in Vegas for a pair of 'Ludes, which, by this point, I think we can all agree, would be the only rational explanation to fully explain how someone could come up with a cover story like this.
I mean, it's gotta be made up, right? The truth is... you know, covered, right? You'll have to tell me, I've fully abandoned all hope after we entered Germany, there's no sign of
My Hitler anyplace. (Just not really into elf fucking, okay? Otay? OKAY? Fuck you, you try it, I'm sticking with this bowl of cereal that traded off a guttersnipe in exchange for giving her permission to abort her pretend robot fetus.) You'd think he'd be out here, Loud & Proud, right? Yeah, I guess not.
I won't just wait. I'll drink some milk, too. No, not -chocolate- milk. Heh heh. No, I'm not gonna proofread, I'm just going to SUBMIT
Eating a small pig for breakfast everyday, driving a Chrysler minivan, mowing fescue weekly, helping Dubb Jr. with long division, watching Dancing with the Stars.
This gets the watermelon's attention.