A miasma of post-Doritos farts, ass sweat, and uncleaned litter box.
The feeling of the spray hitting your skin will be akin to feeling piss aerosols/drops hit your leg when wearing shorts and using one of those urinals that extend to the floor.
Raw?
It’s not that I’m not a morning person, it’s that I hate the realization of having woken up again.
I usually do natto and an egg (fried or raw, depending on how I feel). If I feel extra fancy, I throw in some shiokara in the mix—add some nice, salty ocean flavors to the slimy goodness.
I’ll just book AAF for 10 consecutive shows where they’re only allowed to play the smooth criminal cover.
If the sellers were truly serious about marketing these, they would’ve stuck a single hotdog in the package peaking out of the top of the pants.
This reminds me of the etymology of バカ (baka, stupid in Japanese).
I don’t know if that’s what’s intended or not.
One problem I used to have was using the wrong email address to send work-related stuff. Now, work stuff lives in outlook and my personal stuff lives in whatever non-outlook email client doesn’t suck.
This is not to say outlook is great—i fucking hate it.
Related to suicide ride, but I’m a millennial: I had a childhood friend who rode down a hill on the pegs once. He thought the best solution for slowing down mid-hill was to jump off.
When you carry it around, do you carry it fold up or fold down? Or carry it flat? If so, West Coast up or east coast up?