It's been a long kind of weekend. The kind of punctuation you'd expect after one of those weeks. I am ready to start a new week now, I think. Summer is so close. I talked to my godfather a couple days ago. "Do you have my cell number?" He asked. "Yes." I said. "Okay," he said. "If you get into any kind of trouble, if you need anything--call me." "I will." I told him. I miss my dad. I haven't heard from him in almost two weeks. I miss my bike. It hasn't been my week. I ate an entire box of tic tacs today.
This is something I feel very strongly about. So strong are my emotions about it, in fact, that I have haphazardly drafted this singular post about it on the fly. I hope, for your sake, that you are seated as I deal with this incredibly important social issue and say controversial things--the likes of which give women the vapors. Shorts. I fucking hate shorts. I hate them because you can't look cool in them. Think about it. Have you ever seen an action hero save the world wearing shorts? No. Action heroes wear pants. Men wear pants. People who save the world wear pants. Pants, pants, pants. Nobody wears shorts excepts, like, stoners, lazy guys, and dudes. And bros. Those archetypes do not do adventurous things. Indiana Jones? Pants. Robocop? Pants. Flapjack? Pants. Bear Grylls? Pants. Australian stereotypes? Shorts. Australia really likes to try to censor their internet content. That doesn't sound so awesome and/or manly to me. To prove my conclusion that shorts a
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I wish you a legitimate week!