I've bought one of those garden incinerators. It looks like a quadriplegic version of The Tin Man from Wizard of Oz.
eel like you're in the Matrix every time you look at the calendar. 'But, wait, what the-' is my phrase of choice lately.
I know I'm going to wake up one morning with him sucking out my eyeballs.
I'm visualizing a big hunk of a policeman putting a blanket around me while handing me a hot chocolate and telling me how well I did...
The planet is dying. We're all doomed. Oops, I've gone a bot Goth again haven't I?