What? You thought I was afraid of you, gluten? I wasn't going to eat a bread? Ahhhhhh fooled you, motherfuckers. I fucking annihilated some gluten. I will eat a bread down to the bones.
This Celiac thing was all a smokescreen. I was gas lighting some gluten motherfuckers. They were like, "Oh, we are safe in this idiot's house. We are never getting eaten. Get some sponge bread and crescent rolls all over this motherfucker. Post up butter cookies on the kitchen island. We own this place. This weak digesting bitch can't eat anything."
Ohhhhhhhhh, what now, gluten? You're not a real thing. You're not something that actually exists. I will fucking digest a brick of crackers. Don't test me. My body will fucking process you.
You were like, "Ha ha ha let's just bring in donuts on Mondays and put those on the counter in the break room. We can hang out all day. Nobody eats gluten in this office."
Ohhhhhhhhh, fuck you gluten. Crept up on that. You are DOOMED. I am back in the game, so you can tell Wanda from HR that her cake trays are NOT going home untouched from now on.
I hope you enjoyed Thanksgiving. Were you thankful nobody eats a bread anymore? I hope you were, because I am counting carbs now. Yeah, motherfuckers, I am counting them and crossing them off my list one by one.
- Tear-apart rolls: nom-nom, motherfuckers.
- Bagels: ate.
- Sugar cookies: we are back in business.
- Pop Tarts: popped.
- Christmas Stollen: guh-guh-guh-gegessen.
- Baguettes: tagged, bagged, brie smothered, and flushed.
I don't need butter. No chipotle aioli gimmicks in this biz. Don't even give me a Fuji water. I will dry pound your shit, gluten, because I am fucking done with your bullshit. Everything in the bakery is ON NOTICE. You are going down. This is a war of extinction. May the best bread-eating motherfucker win.
Ohhhhhhhhh, wait, you don't eat bread? You don't actually eat anything because you're a broad nutritional category? Welcome to my former world, gluten. Let me introduce you to the new way. It's called getting chewed down.
Oatmeal, don't think I forgot your bullshit. I will get sloppy on you. Pasta, you're in my crosshairs too.
It's over with, gluten. You are fucking done.
The perfect addition to my living room. The hardy resin exterior is fantastic, because I can just hose it down to remove all the raccoon dung that tends to accumulate.
Now with the sun and the warmth and the generally pleasant atmosphere, you can no longer blame the weather for why you've spent the last sixteen hours sitting inside. You'll need to stay on your toes if you want to stay in your chair.
There's a new Tony Hawk game in town, and it has projectiles. ...?
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