Merry Christmas brothers and sisters. Enjoy your family and friends today.
Edit: Should have thought of this earlier, but how about $12.25 for the campaign today ? Or perhaps $25.12?
I found it last year when I was struggling with mental health. I'm pretty sure it was a walrus but may be another associated marine creature. The message was something along the lines of stop caring about what they think all the time, stop them controlling your life, etc.
It was quite long and may have been part-comic part-text on a website if that makes sense. Would be eternally grateful to anyone who can help me out, think it will really help me right now. Thanks :)
I am sitting at the farthest desk in a giant room and none of the other 40 people here are close enough to talk to.
edit: I like you all more than the people I work with, you guys are cool AF
edit 2: Heyyyyyyy I got cut loose 4 hours early. If there are anymore questions I will answer them when I get home in bed and if you do ask one of those questions, it's your treat because I will be stark raving nude.
Tuskany.
Bombs Away! Comedy is proud to present a night of Stand Up Comedy featuring Joe DeRosa! Show starts at 8pm, at The Walrus. Tickets are $15 online, $20 at the door.
A young man is born in Michigan to two loving and football loving parents. He comes of age and finds his own love for the gridiron.
It is Michigan, and every Sunday, the house blooms in silver and Honolulu blue; Michigan is, after all, home to Lions, and he is entranced. On certain, special days, the starry pallete shifts. Autumnal brown and orange bedeck the shelf where small tokens of fandom live when Father, born in Cleveland, can see his home test its mettle.
And hark! A most unusual day comes! Against the vagaries of the broadcast market, and the young man sees Kansas City take the field, resplendent. On this day the home finds itself shining with the the yellow of hearty wheat, luscious saffron, lustrous gold. On this unusual day, the home drips with red, the color of sanguine valor and bombastic sunsets that herald the turning of the world. The red of sumptuous and succulent ketchup. For his Mother, you see, was born, raised, elevated by the eponymous metropolis of Kansas.
For too long, blue, brown, and the rest lend the young man's heart no succor. He lives to see the mockery of the "perfect season": 0-16 go his Lions. His adopted Browns struggle perennially; the young man has a fantasy of football, and this means starting anybody playing against the laughingstock that is Cleveland. Despair knows him, genial as an old friend.
Yet, always he watches with a cautious but hopeful eye the collective Adonis of Arrowhead. Heartbreak finds him late, and his swollen, hopeful heart knows the plummet is all the more devastating.
Brothers and Sisters, in all great legends, there comes a reckoning. And this year that reckoning comes.
His number is 15.
What I mean to say is:
Tom Brady bout to get fucked up and I love you all.
*I should have said “last appeared in the majors”, as one Carpenter played in the minors a few years after 2012
At one point his carpentry mentor has him make a chair for a high profile client. He senses a deep unseable weakness in the wood he is given and doesn't want to use it but is forced to anyway and the chair breaks. I remember there being a kid who picked guns even though they were horribly inaccurate and unreliable in this world, a kid who picked nunchucks, and something about metal swords being impractical because of the energy in the world.
