I'm so fancy
We get the New Yorker now. Actually, we've been getting it for the past couple of weeks. I'm so fancy. So fancy that I haven't even bothered reading a single article. I am the living end!
A word about the meatsweats: Well Drew and I were talking and he said he thought he'd had ‘em before, and I'm pretty sure I must've had ‘em at one time or another. That fine mist forming on your lip, those beads of sweat gathering on your brow. Things that cannot be blamed on the heat or even the physical strain of overfilling your stomach. A phenomenon all its own. If you know of them, if you too have dampened your collar dining on flesh - Don’t be ashamed. We understand.
1 Comments:
that made me think of the Simpsons episode where they get a rejection notice from the New Yorker Subscription Department
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