You throw the Hot Pockets into the microwave and grab the Tab. By the time the raid starts, you're sluggish, and within an hour you're stumbling on your keyboard. The last thing you remember is watching your virtual friends fall and die. When thin rays of sunlight sneak through the blocked window, you open your eyes, and the lingering taste of Tab in your mouth reminds you of the healthy soda. You know what, you think, it's time to clean my life up. You uninstall all your video games, give your consoles away, buy your own case of Tab, and then head to the library to check out audio books about yoga. Life looks good. And for awhile, it is, until you die of cancer a year later.
Are we not allowed to be real parents anymore? We may have feared the CyborFreaks, but we damn well respected them and learned about boundaries.
A thousand years ago, dudes were dying from splinters, but now the wizard potion that cleans our light wounds costs less than a Dr. Pepper in 1994. I love this medicinal 7up.
Ron Paul spins in his chair, trying to grab his decorative antique musket but Freddy gets it first.
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