Fuck, at least let me touch a boob or something first.

The way things seem to be going I think Führer might be more appropriate.

My phone says it’s currently sixteen below, and we’re supposed to expect it to get down to thirty-two tonight. I’m gonna have to call a cab to get home after work, because as I learned this week my car will not start when it gets this cold.

I am so glad I’ve never encountered Christmas carolers outside of fiction, because I’m not sure I’d have the willpower to not just close the door in their faces.

Ehh, they’d be dead long before they even reached the edge of our solar system, much less another star.

No, like, he literally just hits Putin over the head with a $5 claw hammer from Menards or something.

I’m so fucking pissed because I’ve been looking forward to this so hard but I’m not gonna be able to see it until Christmas Eve at the earliest.

Hey, you know what they say about omelettes and eggs.

First we need to get our hands on some X-wings.

We haven’t started them yet at the one I work at but if I’m remembering the assembly diagram correctly it’s pretty much like a Big Mac made on the smaller bun and with slightly larger meat patties than the cheeseburgers get. (1/6 pound, as opposed to the standard 1/10 and 1/4 pound patties.)

It’s a dead raccoon.

Now I’m imagining him showing up on Cops.

Can we just terraform Mars and/or Venus already?

I’ll admit that, in these complicated times, I sometimes look back fondly on my days as a warboy, roaming the wasteland of our collapsed society...things were simpler then, you know?

Apparently one of my coworkers was recently asked what it was like “living through Y2K” by another (15-year-old) employee.

Everything is bad and nothing is good.

CHAINSAW PENIS

So how long do we think it’ll be before this apocalyptic dumbfuck gets us into a completely avoidable conflict entirely due to his own towering incompetence.