You graduate hungry, enraged by the tyranny and rhetoric of our modern world. You apply to every job you can find, sure you can really make a difference in shaping the future. For some reason every time you actually get a call back from your resume, the interviewer doesn't seem to understand. "Wait," they say, "so you went to college to study boys and girls?" You tell them that it's more than that, but you never hear back.
You start working at Bill's Bar and Grill because it's the very cesspool of sexism and prejudice you want to confront. You also want to start paying off these debts. Every day for the first few months, you leave work enraged that people still treat women in such offensive ways, but after a while you're numb to it, and after a few years you don't feel much at all. Your fiery drive diminishes with each shift until you're mindlessly complacent.
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.
U2 and Apple have conspired to place a U2 album into your music in the year 2014. You own a U2 album. And you can't get rid of it.
Ron Paul spins in his chair, trying to grab his decorative antique musket but Freddy gets it first.
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