'Will you be the knife-twist to my look of pained disbelie—umph . . . Yup . . . Perfect . . .'

'"Broke the mold"? Buddy, my doctor said it looked like I was made freehand, a preschool arts-and-crafts project to be hidden in the miscellaneous drawer. He's using six-syllable words around me, man. I'm scared.'

Happy Food-Coma Friday, everyone.

Damnit...

Watching a film, the protag's doorbell rings. I turn to check my door. But, I do not own a doorbell; 'never have. I cannot be trusted with heavy machinery in populated areas.

'"Audiophile"? You calling me some kind of pervert?'

You'll find me scrolling through edtwt under the search-tag for 'oats' just to feel somethin' (foids saying how much they adore me).

What about Second Happy Friday?

I'd like to be happy about a PR, but the dog did eat a non-negligible amount of the dumbbell I used just before the weight mysteriously felt lighter.

'Posting pictures of when you had crazy aura.

Who up grafting nipples onto dey chickens?

'Entering a local wet t-shirt contest under the fighting-name 'Drowned, Non-Fearful Rat'.

Happy Friday, everyone.

'Stumbling drunk'? No, Your Honour. I was... uh... slow-dancing with myself.

I remember being quite disappointed with what sculleries are actually used for.

'Traveling to the Far East to train with an obscure sect of 麒麟臂 monks to learn how to bear-hug foids so hard their eyes boggle like in those pictures of happily-tickled rats.