Finally... another public restroom located in... hmm... some sort of store where technology goes to die... near a major intersection.

And for “dessert”: 30-seconds of passionate grunting followed by loud snoring.

So... 1,542-words (8,912-characters) to say:

Reportage/opinion isn’t dependent upon the reporter/opinionifier being involved directly with whatever/whomever is being reportified/opinionated upon. Sure... it helps to have actual facts (even if only to /bolster/ an opinion) but even that goes out the window with the lead-poisoned baby and the lead-poisoned…

Want to scare the modern American? Begin your paragraph with:

My tech bag has a slip of paper with the words, “Gone until Tuesday. Call my assistant” on it.

I used to write /about/ TV back in late 90s. I didn’t watch your tape (or read your post). Here we go:

Not sure what your paragraph means, champ. But I look like Patrick Stewart so I get more Tang than an astronaut.

So... when somebody pulls up a stool and milks the same tit over and over again we’re supposed to all yell, “Hooray”.

So... at the ending someone cashed a big check.

Fifty shades of entitlement. I get you.

I look at these posts and then I mutter, “Damn. There really is a single helix.”

“Awesome”. Someone telling me how much they love HotPockets /and/ Fallout 4 just became one-touch easy for them.

So... More Jaden Smith moobies. And...

Oh... you and your music.

It’s Tennessee. There’s “snake handling” and “snake handling”. If they could, for once, spell out the difference, then there would be no “relentless media agenda.”

“Why do I have these sores all over my lips?” said another.

I never learned how to drive.

Whoa... whoa... whoa. Chelsea Handler had a talk show for seven years?

Because “bat shit crazy” wasn’t gettin’ the love.