Once, for science, I ate a mouthful of chocolate sprinkles and they barely had a flavour at all. Might was well manufacture brown-colour sugar sprinkles and save the wax for candles.

Wot! This is why I surf. Didn’t know until today that the shiny balls actually have a special name. Because you said “first I’ve heard” I went nuts boning up on what these things actually are.

Were one of those items black licorice? Because, that’s the one thing I vaguely recall picking off, and I never picked things off when I was a kid.

At least the little stars have some obvious presence. The sprinkles just seem like somebody added grit to a gloriously smooth icing.

Betty White has left us now, but if she had a dick this is where she’d tell you to suck it.

Whenever I see sprinkles, I silently thank the fates that it’s not those little chrome balls.

Basically, I would pay for used tires if the price was a token profit above install and balance, and the installer had a short-term replacement policy for fails—maybe three months. I’d go back for a chat and free coffee every three months if it was all friendly-like.

1990: Just stick a triangle behind it.

I was feeling the hate, and not really wanting to defend the queen, so the thin line between love and hate is price.

Sleeping beauty is a no-no, a whole nuther level. Don’t get near their face with your face because they wake up on a hair trigger.

There was a local small grocery nearby—not fast food and now bankrupt—that refused to hand me my till tape. They would rapidly stuff it in the last grocery bag, as if ashamed or I hadn’t spoken and held out my hand, behaving like a glitch in the matrix or momentarily stunned by the manager’s taser. Often, it would be…

“Forget it, Ash. It’s Angela.”

One question solved; pears floated to the top so nothing was flipped for service or photography.

Cute, but I find it hard to believe most fast food staff assume their shoes are tied, then look down to realize they wore the velcro.

Oh, it’s Angela, and not even the weekend. I’m ashamed I read the value menu thing, not even a rose-coloured memory if there was any point being made.

And the lactose intolerant burn in hell, proof of their deviance, victims of their impious and vile choices in sight of God. Praise be to Dairy, praise be to the Ori, saving our Milky Way from the scourge of unbelievers.

Never used disposable gloves in the kitchen until that day.

Like the lonely and desperate soul they are they probably pulled back the sheets and genuflected face down, hoovering everything crumbish, hoping to avoid the TP flakes loosened from their crack.

Just to support your greyishness:

Just to support your greyishness:

I’m not surprised, but I am ignorant of a current example. If you’re not exaggerating about average that means nosebleeds might have been as low as $2500BHD (before hot dog.)