A hoopy frood who really knows where his towel is. Two wheels good, four wheels bad. Ex Sociology adjunct turned Accounting nerd. North of Boston, near witches. Born into a 321 PPM world. He/Him
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Damn right.
Who would you be in a horror movie? I'd be the one who dies at the very beginning before the story even starts to give a nice spooky opening to the whole thing.
Mary, listen to the pathetic, unshaven, probably unwashed man eating leftover unrefrigerated meat-blob pizza straight from the box. For once, Wilbur is correct.
