It's late in the night.

I have just arrived home from San Antonio.

Why was I in San Antonio?

Because life isn't always easy.

I flew on an airplane back. It's one of those things with the wings and the jets...it doesn't matter.

But, when I got back I unpacked my baggage like a good American (South) I found shame.

There, before me, was a notice from the TSA that they had searched (randomly they explained) my bag.

Thoughts race - did I have something fucked up in my bag? If so, they would have stopped me at the gate, right? I mean, I'm good - right?

But wait, are they just waiting to hogtie me in my home? I mean, what could stop them? What could stop them??? I suppose I'm being paranoid. But, SOMETHING could've been in my bag.

Then I remembered I'm 47.

There's zero chance there's anything in my bag that would get me into any trouble.

Then I got mad. I'm 47 - I should have an out on this. There's no way a 47 year old man would have anything interesting in his bag.

In fact, the most interesting portions of my bag would be sales receipts so I could be compensated for my expenses from my employer - one J.J. Fadd of Brooklynn.

But that's another story for another day.

My anger grew until I realized...

I was in San Antonio in weather that was above 85 everyday.

I'm a fat man with fat man likings: nachos, hamburgers, and beer.

Not only that, I'm a man who likes to keep his food north of spicy.

Point is: I had mud butt the entire trip.

I'm talking several showers and nothing helped.

My diet and the temperature in San Antonio gave no use to the idea of a clean anus.

And with an unclean ass comes some fucking unclean underwear, pants, and wallet.

Yes, it was so bad my wallet smelled like a colonoscopy just from being inches away from my butt-tunder.

And these poor bastards had to look through my bag-o-tricks.

So, it was with a wink to the God Almighty of winning (Matt Beffer, Kentridge class of 94 Wresting Captain) that I said to myself "I beat the TSA."

One of these poor, deranged bastards had to sort through my trunk of funk linens to find what?

Stank.

Oh, help me Lord! I have seen the meek inherent the Earth! I have grazed in the honey land! I have beat the TSA with my stanky drawers! Can I get an AMEN?!

CAN I GET AN AMEN!

Oh, and I think they stole three San Antonio stickers I was gonna give to my nieces and nephews.

Amen.

Dana Carvey and Chris Farley actively supported the GOP.

Sure, Sir

They are brined overnight in at

the nachos?

Yes, Sir, the nachos. They are brined over-

the nachos or the meat in the nachos?

The nachos, Sir. They are brined overnight after being smothered in nabu cow's milk cheese.

but you brined the entire - OK, let me step back. You put down some chips, some cheese - the hell did you say i don't know, and then put down the beef and then you melted it, pulled it out of the oven and then dunked it in brine?

That's what we did, Sir.

i...wouldn't it be a wet mess?

It is a wet mess, Sir. But try it. It's like a fish encrusted in salt, then dowsed in pickle juice, and then they remove the fish and put nacho chips and cheese on it. Then they brine it again. It's like a wet boot with loose atoms, plus cheese.

(he eats a nacho)

Well, I'll be damned!

_Men who grow beards over hideous radiation victim's pudgy white faces shouldn't suffer alone. Please give.

And now for something completely

My father was always mad at me for the mistakes he made.

He couldn't stand seeing me do things he had done before that lead to failure.

I can't help but respect him for that.

Watching the original mini-series for The Stand by Stephen King, I realized there's a whole group of production and actor figures who are far worse as failures than anything my Dad or Myself could imagine.

P.S. I only watched it because I broke my shoulder and got oddly nostalgic for being a retard who watches Stephen King mini series movies.

You put your hand down your fly to take a piss and all of your shoulder muscles decide to act like complete jackasses.

So, I was reading The Shining the other day and at one point Jack Torrance goes into a pay phone next to a key making machine...

I totally thought key making machines were a brand new invention that had revolutionized the nation. The Shining came out in 1977. That means these machines have been around for 46 years! One year younger than myself.

Hey Key Making Machines: not impressed!

Office ashtray on verge of collapse; Levi to empty it into Living Room ashtray

Secrets of weight loss: Pepsi and ice in a Styrofoam cup

Issaquah man reacts to news from his shoulder that taking the trash out with a healing dislocated shoulder is frowned upon

Playing the odds: Grubhub delivered correctly five consecutive times - Issaquah man pushes the odds with sixth order

Pizza becomes Stephen King like antagonist after being left out for five days

Enriched Wheat Flour (Wheat Flour, Niacin, Reduced Iron, Thiamin Mononitrate, Riboflavin Folic Acid), Salt, Vegetable Oil (May contain one or more of the following: Corn, Canola, Soybean), Artificial Butter Flavor, Carol Burnett, Spices, Dried Onion, Lactic Acid, Monosodium Glutamate, Natural Flavor.

Have about three good lighters. Like ones I can depend on.

Took out some recycling and threw it in the garbage by accident. Day two and I've done nothing about it.

The water in my espresso machine needed replacement around 7 PM.

In a bold move, I took two Aleve in a twelve hour period. I commented "that's a risk I'm willing to take".

And the right sink is still leaking.

I want to wrap you in the S curves of Renton

I want to Fife your Des Moines

On an offramp in Tukwilla

In a carpool lane before the tolls

As far as I5 goes

Take you in a porta potty in Duvall

Within the naked purple light things in Renton

So full I can't fit my Kent in

Like the green signs above

I want You to Justify My HOV

DestinationWa is a satirical attempt at joking around that 213 persons subscribe to in order to avoid looking at work email.

What happened?

I took all known user data from each user from one of Reddit's databases and sold it to Felix, the guy who cleans my house.

What information was involved?

No banking or Social Security information was involved in this breach. In fact, only the penis sizes and last porno movie each person saw was affected.

What am I doing in response?

I'm gonna sit Felix down and tell him that we had a deal that he was just gonna hang onto that information and not release it. He was all like "Yeah, I just want to look at it. Penis sizes interest me." But instead he sold it. The next time I sell Felix your personal information, he's gonna sign a "don't sell to the Chinese" clause.

What are we doing in response?

First, if you don't own a penis and don't watch porn you have nothing to worry about. However, if you do and you do, rest assured I'm tracking this information and how it's shared and hoping it doesn't enter the mainstream media. I'm doing this with a Nintendo, a car battery, and a transistor radio. Trust me, I'll get answers.

What can you do?

Have a bigger penis and watch more mainstream porno.

I can't even remember how it started. Maybe Cillian Murphy staring into space or something? This movie was so boring, I lost interest within the first twelve minutes and every time I would turn it back on, that number decreased.

It eventually took me four months to watch the whole movie. Near the end I was splitting seconds like atoms and saw much of the film in bright flashes of colors that lasted nano seconds.

Cillian is a great actor. But he blew it in this. Or the character was so boring that no actor could have brought life to it. He reminded me of Peter Weller throughout. But the thing about Peter Weller is he's in high octane action or horror movies like RoboCop or Naked Lunch. Cillian is splitting atoms in a lab.

The plot is that Oppenheimer decides to take part in one of the world's greatest genocides and he's torn about whether to help end the war and incinerate 100s of thousands of people or like get a job at IBM. He opts for the former. It's no big surprise as one of the first scenes depicts him trying to murder his professor.

His ambiguity goes on throughout the movie as he sympathizes and then doesn't with Communists. This movie is really about a dude who can't make decisions. Which may relate to quantum physics in the particle or beam issue. Oppenheimer is both a genocidal maniac and a peacenik. It just depends on how you look at it. But in the end, he's just fucking boring.

There's a tacked on romance with his wife and mistress and some really cheap imagery of his personal life being brought out into the open. Christopher Nolan is a commercial director, period. Momento was good when smash cutting the living shit out of a movie was interesting. Then came Batman and you realized he couldn't write dialogue or direct emotion to save his Nagasaki.

For my money, Lynch's Trinity portion of Twin Peaks is the best depiction of the bomb ever. Nolan's is like watching your best buddy blow up a watermelon with an M80. What should have been the money shot was the grab me another beer and see what's on Catchy Classics moment.

Bunch of other stuff happens. Einstein walks in and out like a clown.

The only anchor of greatness is Downey's performance that took me about a half hour to figure out it was him.

Downey is easily one of our best living actors.

Ending on a high note....

Jersey Mike's: I once decided this place sucked because they have this Spam like mound of ham that they shave pieces from. Well, my sister brought over an Italian the other night and I fell in love. Drenched in oil, this sandwich is superior to anything you've ever eaten.

Blazing Bagels: That weird cafe where Rogue used to be went tits up and was replaced with the Blazing Bagels. I look forward to bagel sandwiches and bagel dogs from this establishment. You can count on it!

"You're one hotdog away from a heart attack." The woman next to me whispered as we stood in line for an outdoor playing of The Little Mermaid in Marymoor Park.

I had no idea I was one hotdog away from a heart attack and no idea that I was in line for an outdoor showing of The Little Mermaid.

I mean, I had some clue about the hotdog part as I stood in line 250 pounds and smoking a Marb. But The Little Mermaid part was news to me.

I'll admit it: I was stoned again. I just can't help it sometimes. You give me a destination and Uber money and I'm going to get stoned. It's like how if you lay seige to the Capitol and kill a few cops you're gonna do some time in jail.

As it was, I was in my form of jail - a giant band of children snotting all over ice cream cones and popcorn waiting to see one of the dumbest films put to camera. I mean really - if fish talked we wouldn't eat them. Or - OR! If fish talked I might eat them. But they don't. And I don't eat fish. And I wasn't supposed to be in line for The Little Mermaid.

No, I was supposed to be in line for some Irish folk singer who was playing at Chateau Blahblahblah. I was conned into it by my sisters and my amazing lack of giving a fuck about anything that's more than three hours away. In this case, it was a concert that I was kindly invited to back in January and said YES to only because when you are one hotdog away from a heart attack you live a consequence free life.

And damn if my left arm isn't on fire again!

But there's nothing funny about heart attacks and there's nothing funny about getting directions wrong. But, let's face it: Marymoor and Chateau Blahblahblah should be the same thing - a bunch of drunk 50 year olds watching old bands try to pay their credit card bills from 1983.

I kept telling everyone "Oh, I'm gonna Uber to Marymoor." And everyone kept on looking at me like I was stoned or something. Which I was.

I can still remember the Uber driver asking in a creeped out voice "Uh, are you going to see The Little Mermaid?" And my total incredulousness at finding that 14 year old girls had an interest in Irish folk singing. As I walked to the "concert" I believe I was the only male and the only person over the age of 14 that wasn't walking their children in.

So, the heart attack comment probably was a warning.

I'll tell you - there's nothing more creepy than seeing an middle aged, overweight man in the audience for The Little Mermaid.

Luckily, I didn't make it that far. I quickly phoned my sister and asked "Uh, where is the concert in relation to The Little Mermaid movie."

Dead silence.

"Amber?"

"There's no Little Mermaid movie. What do you see?"

"Uh, just this big sign that says Movies at Marymoor."

"OK. That's because you're at Marymoor park and the concert is in Woodinville at Chateau Blahblahblah."

I looked around, hung up the phone and muttered "Shit" to myself just in time to pay for the swear from about 5 kids that kept swear jars on their persons. Fucking Redmond!

I turned around and ordered another Uber. It was now a 200 dollar night of concert tickets and Ubers to just go back to my house and get drunk on espresso White Russians while watching Cobra on HBO. Otherwords: it was Wednesday.

There were huge problems with the Uber home. The first one was when she called me and asked "Where are you?" as I stood in a giant parking lot near an inflatable movie screen, with about 400 cars moving around the park.

"Do you see the movie screen?"

"Yes."

"Do you see the giant group of children?"

"Yes."

"Do you see a tall, fat child smoking a cigarette?"

"How could I miss her. She must weigh 280 pounds!"

"250."

The second problem was I was now in an Uber with a woman who was healthily creeped out by a 47 year old man at a showing of The Little Mermaid.

The third problem was she gave up at Factoria and told me she (and her God - I think it was some version of Jesus that wore a hat) couldn't have such an awful person in her car.

I'll say it again and again, if there's one thing gambling taught me it's how to lose money in grace. I drank my White Russian, and I watched Cobra. And in this insane world, let's face it: it's worth 200 bucks.

It's not. And I probably do weigh 280, but in this insane world, what's a little lying?

So, I'm out on the deck again - and you know me, I'm drinking beer and cutting the cheese!

Any horse, so I cut this chain saw type fart. As always, I look around to see if anyone heard - after the fart - like totally dumb stoner shit.

Anyways, so I look around and see my neighbor walking her dog! That never happens! Whenever I cut the cheese no one is around. It's like I have this gift.

Any hunger, So I look and see her and our eyes meet. And she comes over to talk to me!

Well, the square of it is this: she didn't hear me cut the cheese or she heard me cut the cheese and was intrigued.

Now I don't know how to go about this - if she didn't hear me cut the cheese, then maybe it was just a "Hi, How Are Ya I'm Friendly in the Strictest Sense", but if she came forth all like "I heard that cheese cutting and wanna bit more" then it's like it's on.

I never thought all this cheese cutting would lead me to so many conundrums.

I guess I'm one of those romantics.

It was midnight on a Tuesday and there was Margaret lathering her body with suntan lotion.

At midnight.

It struck me as odd.

But even odder was she was a box of Triscuits with arms and legs.

9:31 by my watch.

An F250 pulled up on the curb.

The machine pumped exhumed gas into the air, made a robotic piston noise, then came to a visible halt.

The halting of all machinery it brought to this house.

The door popped open and two sets of black boots fell to the ground, carrying a black leather clad man with a large smile on his face.

On each hip he wore a gun.

He looked up at my door and then nodded to himself - as if he knew who I was behind the walls and windows of my home.

He began walking towards my door...

And all I could think of was "I hope to God this isn't my Grubhub guy."

It was an odd night. Drinks at Sunset and then we relayed to my home base for joints. I was in good spirits, as I had been drinking and had ate an edible. As a P.S. I would later order Five Guys Grubhub. It was one of those nights where all the cogs and wheels were working for pure juvenile pleasures.

We ended up on the back porch, the three of us, talking about old times. It was like a beer commercial where all the participants were actually suffering from drinking beer for 30 years.

Soon, one of us needed to leave to complete some emergency appointment that could only be weird 50 year old problems that generally deal with the ass. Or, if you like the medical term, the ass-hole; the shame of old age is your biggest problem is your butt doesn't work. But I digress.

I was left with one old friend talking about old times.

Beyond the condo, I heard an old man hoot in the night. Then again. I was stoned and couldn't be for sure if I heard it or if the weed heard it. I turned to my old friend and asked "Is that a crazy person?"

He looked at me and explained that no man is crazy and that he works with them often in his job of selling pharmaceuticals. I thought to myself "My god, this guy is going to out liberal me in my own home." I explained, stunned, that I just meant the man seemed to have a mental illness and how awful it would be to be trapped in one's own mind.

My friend explained the problems, which switched over to homelessness, then to fentanyl, then to the crying shame of defunding the police.

The fucker had switched gears on me!

I was speechless. I could not account for this cranial 360 this bastard had put on me.

I nodded and murmured silent affirmations as he continued with Martian overlords and the UFO conspiracy to put fluoride in ice cream.

I don't care where you lie on the political spectrum....well, of course I do....but don't FUCKING SWITCH GEARS!

I feel so shamed.

So, we're at this drinking event with coworkers and this guy is talking about how his friends asked him if they should take their shoes off before they come in his house.

So, I go "Anyone who asks you if they need to take their shoes off before they walk in your house thinks you're an asshole."

Dude hates me now.

Thing is, I had a party the other night and two of the 20 people over there asked me the same question. And, you know what? I identified them as people that think I'm an asshole and tossed them out of the party.

So, you can see how I was trying to help this guy and he just wasn't having it.

Man, sometimes I think I give too much.

You were in the shop buying the exact same thing I was buying: "I don't know, a grab bag of assorted joints".

You were beautiful.

I purchased my 17 joints of god knows what and left the store, got in my car, lit a cigarette and began driving away.

You came out of the shop and saw me as I pulled away and laughed at me.

LAUGHED AT ME!

At the next stop light I realized you thought I had lit up one of the 17 random joints in my car.

I love you

It's true.

Bout five months ago we started dating. The problem was she was way too possessive.

She'd call me up and ask me to go out to a movie or something nearly everyday. At first it was cool, but then I was like "I'm getting drunk tonight."

Then she'd ask to come over and get drunk with me. I'd be like "Eh, I'm just having one of those drinking alone moments." Then she'd say she worries about me. Then I'd hang up and get drunk.

Pretty soon I rarely would see her. She'd leave notes on my door telling me she loved me and stuff. And her calls became demanding. "Look, lady - I'm eating a Mars bar and then I'm going to masturbate to porn. After that, I plan on playing Fallout." And so on.

Well, she's back in town and I told her we could have a quickie at the DQ in Sammamish, but she said she was over me and that she just called to see how I was doing. I told her I'd being doing a lot better with a Blizzard and a quickie - but she wasn't having it.

Secretly, I didn't want to see her - I wanted her to move on.

So, you can see how I won.

So I was driving to my sister's last night and I hit this light and I notice that everyone is using the light like a stop sign. So, I start screaming and honking and pointing at the light and then it dawns on me that the light is out. So, I keep screaming and honking, but now I'm screaming GO MARINERS! So, I think I pretty much got out of that one.

The next light I get to there's all this traffic and it was a light traffic day. So, then I'm like MAN! But I get closer and that light's out too! So now I'm mad at lights not at traffic. And that was kinda nice because I was getting bored of being mad at traffic.

Pretty soon, I'm driving by the 76 station where I'd planned on buying beer. But all the lights are out and there's like two women guarding the door. So, I put two and two together and decided we had been nuclear bombed. But then why was my car running? And why wasn't I dead? And how do I get this guy's Schwinn out of my front bumper?

Man, I hate lights.

Like many of you, I have seen a bear.

Just a few weeks ago. Walking outside my condo down on the trail.

It was a large bear. It seemed to be about the size of a car. I had people over, so as I was making espresso martinis with my new espresso machine (which you don't have), I heard a friend yell "BEAR" then this other guy came to the slider and said "Levi, there's a bear outside."

I go outside and there's the rest of the party whistling and hooting at the bear as it made its way down the trail.

Apparently, a cyclist had come by and told everyone who was out smoking to be warned "A bear is on its way." Then that guy took off and all my drunk friends went looking for the bear and found it slowly moving down the trail.

"Don't yell at it!" I...yelled. But, of course, one friend kept making noises like clicks at the thing. It continued on as if we weren't there.

Eventually, my friends became upset with the bear and its policy of ignoring those that would hoot or holler at it.

So, Jim began shambling after the bear (possibly black out drunk) and asked the bear for a ride. The bear continued to ignore him.

I would have intervened, but unlike Jim, I am afraid of bears and to some degree Jim when he is blackout drunk.

Soon Jim was asking the bear, as he walked behind it, if it thought it was better than him. "You think you're bigger than me?" Then off came Jim's shirt and he began yelling "C'mon, bear!"

The bear did nothing.

So, Jim decked the bear.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

Wait. Wait. I'm confusing the bear story with the story about Jim who tried to fight my Ottoman.

But there was a bear out on the trail. And Jim did beat the shit out of my Ottoman.

True story.

I encourage everyone of you to buy Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged.

Listen: when people see it on your bookshelf liberals will think you are knowing your enemy and conservatives will think you looked at both sides. In the end, you read the first few chapters and realized it's just a really shitty book.

Note: I am writing this only to told you so months later. Therefore, I will not be editing my work so it will be solidly incased in history.

Note: I have laced the new Modelo low calorie beer I'm drinking with mushrooms. Therefore, there will be typos galore and you really shouldn't read this tinfoil hat article.

ARGUMENT: This is a setup to bail Trump out of more serious crimes.

Alvin Bragg, in early 22, dropped investigations of Trump to the point the former prosecutors complained and left. This isn't a guy who's after Trump. In fact, at first blush in early 22, he seemed like an accomplice.

Remember Mueller and his besties relationship with Bob Barr? Remember that photo of Mueller in an airport with one of the Trump kids? Remember the Mueller report: he kinda did it, but we can't follow all the leads because our hands are tied?

Trump faces more serious charges in Georgia. If NY fails (alleged by a mushroom taking dope fiend) Georgia courts will balk at prosecution. In fact, the American people will begin to possibly believe this is a witch hunt.

Bottom line: I never trusted Mueller and I don't trust Bragg.

Shit, I spilled that beer

Bottomer line: you heard it here first. NO EDITS!

https://www.king5.com/article/news/local/kent/kent-school-board-president-resigns-concerning-comments/281-5c426945-030b-4ff2-8868-005ab059f21e

Guy was my history teacher in high school.

Not a bad guy. I probably learned more from that class than most.

I mean, mostly I was just trying to get back with the girl that dumped me after three months of dating. That or drinking coffee and listening to Nine Inch Nails.

Point is: he was a good teacher. He could be very direct and did not suffer fools. But he'd tell you about history like it was a story and he'd pepper it with "OH, BY THE WAY"s along the way and then explain how some seemingly nice thing the government was doing was actually destroying lives.

Like that girl in high school who destroyed my life. Three months means nothing to her! Nothing! It's a fucking trimester!

Anyway, Tim was also dealing with some real dumbells. Like me, the kid who couldn't spell dumbbells. Or my buddy who held up a sign in Mr. Clark's class that said "I'm so stoned" after getting baked in the teacher's parking lot. Mr. Clark took him out into the hall and said "I don't care what you do with your time, but this is my time and I'm trying to teach you all history!" Didn't even give him a detention or anything. Just said "Hey, this is my job, go get stoned at your job".

I even recall having to explain to a classmate in Mr. Clark's class where Washington state was on the map of the United States (I ran into that guy in Pioneer Square when I was 21, and he was pitching in the minor leagues for the Padres, so you know, what the hell have I done with my life? These dumb ass stories and chronic alcoholism).

Point is: Mr. Clark had a tough job.

Kinda like that job of getting my girlfriend back. She was dating another dude after only one year, nine months, six days, and three hours after our breakup. I understand people need to move on - but I expected you to still be weepy after one year, nine months, six days, and three hours!

Weepy like Tim must be now. He tried to educate and inform. Hell, he tried to run for congress! I think. Or some shit. He showed up at my buddy's house and wanted his parent's vote. He ran as a Democrat. So, it surprised me that this smart, liberal man would drop a word like "colony" when describing a minority group in the seventh most diverse school district in the nation, just under New York.

What were you thinking, Tim?

And what were you thinking, Kathleen, when you went to that party with Angelo and Diego and smoked weed? You know those guys just wanted to take advantage of you. You became a Steely Dan song, Kathleen. Meanwhile, I'm dating Carol, who I have nothing in common with and am only seeing to make you jealous, but it doesn't seem to work because your parents are screening your calls because I'M a stalker? A stalker??? I don't even have a car!

Sorry, that takes me back.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, Tim. My only guess is that he's just OLD. Old people, by definition, have old bodies and old brains and they slow down. They get confused. If you don't think it's going to happen to you, then I think twelve fifty at Arco, but you can find them at BP for 2.99. Ask Alex.

Also, notice that Tim was man enough to resign. He didn't try to fight it. He knew he fucked up. It's like a pitcher that gets old and he can no longer throw a fastball (but he insults a large minority group because of it).

I remember not liking Mr. Clark as a person - he was very curt and did not have time for bullshit. I, my feelings shattered by my ex girlfriend, was very fragile and I was really into bullshit: weed, beer, industrial music.

Man, I remember listening to some Nine Inch Nails remix albums that I think were just steam engines failing sped up about 90 times.

Don't get me wrong, I still like Nine Inch Nails, but some of that industrial stuff was just garbage. Christ, Pigface was 50% garbage. And then I started getting desperate and buying OLD Ministry, the stuff where Al Jourgenson is basically trying to sound like Simple Minds or something.

Fuck. I forgot what I was writing about. Wait. I'll get it....

This whole being 46 business is getting real old.

So old that I'm writing jokes like that.

Well, anywho, whatever I was talking about, you better believe I got my only B in Mr. Clark's class (the rest Ds or Fs) because he was great at teaching.

He just got old.

Fred scratched his head as Lloyd carefully arranged each individual Aleve tablet around the whole onion and bottle of Canada Dry Ginger Ale that he brought.

Fred had an uncanny idea that Lloyd could be "wiggy". It was an uncommon thought, like porridge and Coca Cola flavored gummy bottles hiring your sister to break into a Blockbuster Video that only exists in El Paso in 1745 for twelve minutes.

Shredded NES controllers.

On it's way to plastic?

No.

Like it wants to be a metal.

Even as it lays flat like a blanket on

Nachos

If you read the comics from beginning to end, not only does crime in Gotham occur regularly, it gets worse and worse.

Batman comics are proof alone that The Batman kinda sucks at his job.

It'd be like if someone handed you a shit sandwich and then the next day it's a shit sandwich with Miracle Whip on it, and then it just snowballs from there.

I don't know. I guess I get emotional, but The Batman never really did much for Gotham.

I just guess I get tired of people talking to me about how glorious Miracle Whip and The Batman are.

We celebrated the holidays.

Yeah: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas - my family took it seriously.

We celebrated the fuck out of those holidays.

And, yeah, I know - I know how it sounds. But you weren't there. I'm just saying, we took holidays seriously - I mean in a fun way. I don't know.

I just think if people knew how hard we celebrated holidays...maybe Dad would be alive.

MLK - BBQ. Easter - wings. Fourth of July - bread bake off.

The tapestry of cookies on Christmas would faint a nun.

It's just how I feel - will you be using our mobile app today?