The ducks don't care that it's Christmas. They still smell like shit, and they will still bite each other to get to your flecks of Wonder bread.
I write from a MacBook, my head spinning from the distinct feeling of having suddenly crashed into an alternate universe; I am at the mercy of the wondrous image of outer space that lines my Desktop. I scoured my entire room just to give this beautiful machine a home on my desk. My computer knows everything. I hear my Spanish teacher say "sublime", soo-blee-meh. Hard work good, and hard work fine, but first take care of head.
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