I work in the Huntington building and I spent a good part of the day not working and walking around. This is a sensationalized account of reality.

So, basically, it’s like saying you and your husband saw Hamilton, and it was really cool and laid back and not at all expensive, when in reality, you had dinner at Guy Fieri’s restaurant.

Miss, that was Lollapalooza. You’re having a flashback. LSD is a hell of a drug.

If you noticed a surprisingly high number of men in doublets, scholar’s caps, breeches and knee-length hose, there’s a pretty good chance that you visited a Renaissance Faire by mistake. If that beer you had while people-watching was sipped from a pewter tankard, then you definitely did.

Melania, is that you? Really, is that you?

You don’t choose to get on the Trump Train! It choo-choo-chooses you!

A friend of mine in college described a weekend festival she attended by saying everything was harmonious and people were dressed like fairies. There were children and beauty and she figured out the meaning of life. I asked her if she had been shrooming all weekend and she couldn’t believe I guessed correctly.

There was a huge paper mache Trump head.

I call so much bullshit on this.

Did you accidentally go to a local arts and crafts fair and not the RNC?

( 1 You can’t walk into the convention

You mean really judgemental people that think everyone should think just like they do?

Isn’t this the Twitter of the same “woman” who blogged that Christy Sheats killed her daughters because they were fucking black guys, thus she was a hero who was saving her daughters’ souls or some shit?

I wouldn’t be shocked if it turned out to be a guy behind this troll account.

I don’t like ham sandwiches... does that mean I’m gay?

Jennifer Mayers is clearly Tomatoface or whatever the fuck he’s calling himself mow.

I thought it was fake too. Everyone knows uppity Christian moms only use Facebook.

Pretty, young, and Afghani, so basically a trifecta for getting an old, white, closed-minded judge to talk down to you -

Hugs from another alcoholic abusive father survivor. I haven’t talked to mine in years and years. I did not invite him to my wedding. I have no regrets.

Oh Mark, I’m so sorry and I totally understand where you’re coming from.