Seriously. I was walking down the hall of this building, back towards the table where my stuff was lying waiting for me to waste my time perusing my sticker collection or inventing obligations to bolster my schedule when this little dude pops out of nowhere asking if I was lost. "No," I said. "You aren't?" "No. My stuff is right over there." "Well, you certainly look lost." What the fuck. Unfortunately that was not the end of our encounter because my middle finger had just been sliced open. I was playing with a piece of very sharp grass and I needed a bandage. I saw someone less irritating out of the corner of my eye. "Excuse me, may I please have a band-aid?" "It won't stick," the fucking elf interjects. "Why not?" I ask. "They are the generic brand." Jesus Christ. The worst part was when I got the band-aids from the lady in the white coat and went to the bathroom to cleanse the wound and affix the bandage. It didn't stick. It's kind of coming off right now. Could anything be worse than being proven wrong by someone who in movements immediately previous just irked you? Possibly this is the time to put things in perspective.
Jaylib is really divine and takes my mind off of every other person who sits around pretending to read the New Yorker. I pretend to pretend to read the New Yorker. Twice removal cancels it out. I closely examine the cartoons and slap down the magazine after 30 seconds exasperatedly and make some kind of ignoramus claim.
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loves it
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