There’s nothing quite like opening your mailbox, removing all the stupid ads and offers sent to you unsolicited from soulless mega-corporations, taking it all back inside with you, and immediately dumping the whole sad pile into the trashcan
It feels Real Good to know that the only thing I have to do tomorrow is wake up and buy a bunch of wine and then have a bonfire in my backyard
And the LORD said unto his people: “Y’all can have planet earth for all I care. I have created literally trillions of planets. Some of these planets are home to lifeforms much cooler than you jerks. Hell, I’d rather hang out with some algae on the other side of the universe than stick around this dump any longer. PEACE.”
JUST GONNA GO AHEAD AND SAY IT: As soon as self-driving cars are ubiquitous, I’m outta here. I’m either going to find a snow cave and hide out for the rest of my life or step in front of a self-driving dump trunk or something.
I have this weird problem where I own four pairs of really great boxer briefs, and six or seven that are pretty bad. I feel off on the days I have to wear the bad ones. Recently I was thinking about it and . . . why aren’t all of my boxer briefs nice? Why do I have these half-assed boxer briefs that impede upon my day and remind of all the worst parts of being human? (Whoa, what?)
And see, my “nice” boxer briefs aren’t even all that expensive. I think they’re something like $5 a pair. They’re made of cotton and man are they great.
Tomorrow is payday. For me, payday means I get a pretty small amount of money. Nonetheless I am going to throw away my stupid bad boxer briefs and buy some nice-ass cotton ones. That way I won’t start the god darn day at a terrible disadvantage.
There are three pairs of Adidas Sambas in this picture